


Photographs & Gasoline

by InkedRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, F/M, Fanfic, Fanfiction, SPN - Freeform, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedRose/pseuds/InkedRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{{SEMI-HIATUS}} Lexanna Raen was born into a normal family - a normal family, that is, until the death of her mother leads her father back into a dark life he never thought he would have to return to. Moving around throughout her entire adolescence was normal to her, but watching her father being murdered by an unnameable creature from hell was definitely not. With new knowledge of who her father was, and who her siblings were raised to be, Lexanna sets off on a journey to find the supernatural creature that murdered her father and return the favor. However, she's not the only "Hunter" out there. Though she had knowledge of the infamous Winchester family, she never thought she would come across them. Until she did, of course, and then there was no going back. Now traveling with Sam and Dean Winchester; Lex must struggle to keep the secrets of her horrific past in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunter

_Darkness sat heavily upon the picturesque scene that I could not manage to call a nightmare, but a memory. I had been in this place and this moment before, not only while I slept, but while I was awake as well. Without willingly returning, I was standing in the living room of my childhood home, surrounded by all of the furniture and framed photographs I so keenly recollect. The room was exactly as I had remembered it: walls slathered with maroon paint and bordered by vibrant white wood matched with a carpet equally as pale; one white sectional sofa bent tightly at a perfect ninety degree with small, red and black pillows to accent. Every minuscule detail from this memory was as exact as the moment I lived them in. From the position of the television's remote control to exact formation the pillows had been left in; every single thing was faultlessly precise. It was enough to send shivers down my slumbering spine._

_In the near distance, a familiar sound came bellowing throughout the halls. It was the same sound that would cause me to continue to dream about this memory despite the long years that stretched between this moment and the present. The sound was quickly accompanied by slow but heavy thuds that, from the unsuspecting ear, resembled boulders falling from mountaintops. The thudding caused the house to rattle uneasily under their weight. The windows began to quiver furiously and caused loudness on their own. I looked to the man adjacent from me on the sofa. His dark eyebrows were knitted tightly together to warp an expression of pure horror on his face. He stood quickly from his spot while my head moved lethargically to observe his every movement. He reached around the arm of the couch, and when he drew back, he had a shotgun cradled in his arms. He brought the barrels of the gun up and pointed them at the empty archway leading the hall that served as the main directory to all of the rooms in the house._

_As the thuds drew closer to the archway, each of the man's muscles grew tighter and tighter around his structure. I feel the hefty thumping begin to rattle the bones in my body. I stand to position myself defensively, as the man had, but he raises his left arm to block my path. His head turns slightly in my direction, but his eyes stayed glued ahead. His mouth moves, but I hear nothing outside of the thumps. There is a faint click from the shotgun and I look up to witness something that I could never begin to explain to this very day._

_Lingering in the archway was a creature massive in height, but thin in width. It was ten feet tall with knobby knees that were bent at a sharp angle. Its shoulders were raised up to compensate for its long, gangly, and assumedly heavy, arms. The thinness of the creature was so profound that skin encasing its ribcage was stretched so dramatically that the bones looked as though they were prepared to rip through at any given moment. It had large feet with long, uneven toes matched by razor-sharp claws for toenails. Its fingers were lengthy and spindly and matched with their own set of razor claws. It had humanlike hair that stretched to the flooring and dragged behind it. Its eyes were wide and piercingly golden with a doglike snout bearing overlapping fangs dripping with drool. Aside from its unnatural features, it almost looked to be human._

_It stood standoffishly across from the man as its chest heaved up and down with its panting. Its fingers curled tightly into its palms and it released a bloodcurdling growl so strong that the both of us stumbled backward. The man raised the shotgun fearlessly again and tightened his forefinger around the trigger, allowing two bullets to project from the barrel and into the creature's chest. The shot, however, did not seem to faze the being. It stepped closer and swung its gigantic arm so that the gun would go hurdling from my father's hands and into the wall. He wavered backward, defenseless and unmatched against the creature. I watched as its treelike arm swung again, this time tearing its fingernails across the defenseless man's chest._

_My body froze with horror as thick Bordeaux hued blood began to seep from his body. The dark droplets fell to the white carpet, staining its fibers. I tried to step forward, but my body would not allow it. I was imprisoned in this spot; watching this man die before my very eyes._

_The creature struck again. This time, it bayonetted its talon deep into the man's belly and dragged its nails upwards with strength enough to result in the man's innards pouring onto the floor. A waterfall of blood splashed around his entrails and he dropped to his knees, near to lifelessness. His lungs rasped desperately for air as he turned the upper half of his body towards me. I looked into his pale face and lightless eyes. "Help me," he managed hoarsely._

_The most I could fair to cry was, "dad!"_

_The creature responsible for the damage to my father stuck its claws into his throat and ripped it open. All that remained of his blood was now gushing onto the carpet. The amount of his blood lost was extensive enough to ooze towards my feet._

_I looked into the being's eyes to see it staring back at me now. Its mouth had stretched in a malicious smile of triumph while my father's corpse lay lifelessly at its feet. We shared a gaze for several dragging seconds before it turned and stomped its way out of the house. I looked to my father's body drowning in its own blood. I dropped to my knees in the sea of crimson liquid._

* * *

I jolted awake with my heart racing and the sheets to the bed underneath my body drenched in sweat. I looked around the room frantically before I managed to relax myself. "It was a dream. It was nothing but a dream," I said to myself despite knowing it was a blatant lie. I placed my hand over my chest where my heart was rapidly palpitating. In a desperate attempt to regulate the systems in my body, I took slow and deep breaths. Once I had managed to bring myself to a point of functioning, I pulled myself from the hard motel mattress and into the bathroom. I pulled the cold water knob on the sink and cupped my hands under the running stream of chilled liquid. I splashed it onto my face and stood up to look at the bed sheet that stared at me in place of where the mirror should have been. Once I averted my eyes from all possibilities of seeing my reflection, I grabbed the sheet and ripped it away. I balled the material and threw it onto the bed before moving to my single piece of luggage, which sat atop the dresser. I zipped it closed, pulled on the oversized leather jacket resting next to it, and dragged it out of the room.

I looked back to the number twelve barely hanging on the door before making my way to check-in area. Behind the desk sat a woolly and overweight man wearing a white beater sporting a stereotypical mustard stain above his right breast. I placed my credit card upon the countertop and slid it towards him. He glanced up from the  _Cosmopolitan_ magazine he was reading and took my card, beginning to peck at the keyboard to his prehistoric computer with one finger. I leaned against the counter, drumming my fingers impatiently as I waited for him to finish checking me out of the motel.

"Did you enjoy your stay, Miss, uh…" he paused to look down to the name on my card, "Kelly?"

"Not really," I said blatantly as I took the card back from his sweaty hand.

"Maybe you could come back sometime and your stay will be much better," he said and gave me a suggestive look.

I stared at him blankly for a moment before tucking the card into the back pocket of my jeans. "I doubt it," I replied before turning to walk out of the building. I glanced back to the man to see him staring at me with a dumbfounded expression. "Pig," I muttered to myself.

I walked to my car and threw my luggage into the back seat. Once I had sat on the driver's side, I closed my eyes tightly and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel for a solid five minutes. I drew in a sharp breath to collect myself. I started the engine to my car, pulled out of the parking lot and began my descent out of New York and into Connecticut.


	2. Brain Damage

The voyage out of New York and into Connecticut was atrociously mundane.  While having no scenery save for cornfields in addition to extensive time simply _driving_ , I was beginning to develop an unbelievable case of cabin fever.  Despite my accumulating claustrophobia, I refused to stop.  Each time I passed a motel; I snubbed my nose and pretended as though I had not seen it.  I did not want to run the risk of falling asleep.  In fact, I completely rebuffed the idea of sleep.  The nightmare I had about my father’s death was the last time I had slept and it was enough to cause me to become apprehensive towards resting.  Each time I felt as though the uneventful cornfields were beginning to lull me to sleep, I slipped a cassette tape into the port and increased the stereo’s volume to the maximum level; and when the deafening loudness of pure rock and roll wasn’t sufficient enough to keep me conscious, I found alternative methods.  In one specific moment of extreme desperateness, I hung halfway out of my car’s window and drove in that manner for – at least – seven miles.

Regardless of my adamant efforts, I still found myself beginning to doze off every now and again.  When I caught myself in that place, I would smack at my cheeks in hopes that that would be enough to rejuvenate me, even slightly.  However, that was very much not the case.  No matter what I did, I could not stave off slumber for much longer.  It wasn’t until I entered the small and nearly desolate town of Cornwall that I could no longer manage another mile.

I could have sworn that I had driven throughout the entire town before I found someplace to lay my head.  Despite modern refurbishing, it was clear that the building was relatively ancient.  The vibes radiating from the hotel were enough to strike a sense of terror within me, but I was well aware of the fact that this place was my one and only option.

I pulled my car into the driveway and parked it next to a black 1967 Chevy Impala.  Once I had slipped out of my car and grabbed my luggage, I looked over the Impala.  I whistled admiringly and walked away with a shake of my head.  “Sweet ride,” I muttered to myself as I entered the Pierpont Inn.  Just as the town had seemed; the hotel was just as desolate.  I tutted my tongue against the roof of my mouth and looked back and forth – for any sign of life.  “Hello?”  I called out.  “Are there any living humans in this place?”

Immediately after I called out, a brunette woman rounded the corner and gave me an apologetic smile.  “Sorry about that,” she said.  “I was packing a few things in the back.  What can I do for you?”

“I need a room,” I answered after a few moments of silence.  I spared a brief glance to the not-so-modern décor before returning my gaze to her.

“For how long?” she asked, moving behind a desk.

“Not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” I said and offered her my credit card.

The woman took my card and began to write my information in a small notecard and notepad.  “Enjoy your stay, Miss Kelly,” she smiled.

I retrieved my card from her hand and studied her chest for a name tag.  “Thank you, uh…”

“Susan.”

“Susan,” I corrected and smiled politely.

Susan held out the key to the room I would be staying in and gave me a brief but sad smile.  “I hope you enjoy your stay,” she said.  “We’re going to be closing at the end of the month and I’m hoping to make it a positive experience for each of our final visitors.”

I took the key in my hand and glanced around the antique hotel.  When I looked back to Susan, her expression was expectant of a reply.  “I’m sure it’ll be a very positive experience,” I assured with a tiny smile.  “Thank you.”

As I was turning around to head up the stairs, the woman moved around the desk.  “Can I ask why you’re staying here?  Are you antiquing?”

“I’m not much of an antiquary,” I responded, shifting my weight to hang on the left side of my body.  “I’ve been on the road for quite some time, and, well—”

“—this was kind of a last resort, huh?” she answer quietly.

I looked over her disappointed expression and shook my head.  “No, not a last resort,” I said quickly.  “I could have very well kept driving, but I knew I needed to stop eventually and this hotel looked like a step up from the other places I’ve been crashing at.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she laughed.  “It’s okay, I understand.”

“I’m not compensating for anything,” I lied.  “This really does seem like a great place.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she nodded.  “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” I replied.  I felt a twinge of guilt in my stomach.  I hadn’t intended to make her feel as though her hotel was a last resort, even though it was, essentially.  “I’m going to head up to my room now.  I hope to see you around.”

“Oh, sure, you will.”

I flashed a quick smile and headed up the stairs before she could ask any further questions.  In its heyday, I was sure the Pierpont Inn was a wonderful place to stay, but at this day in age, I had to admit that it creeped me out a little bit.  As I was walking up the stairs, I felt a hand grasp the handle to my suitcase. I swung around to see an elderly man wearing a suit smiling at me.

“I’m Sherwin,” he told me, trying to tug the luggage from my hand.

I held onto it with all of my might, nodding slowly.  “Hello.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to rob you or anything.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t think—”

“—I’m the bellhop.”

“I see,” I laughed awkwardly while I continued to attempt and snatch the bag back from his hands.  “I can handle this.”

“No, no, I insist.”

“That’s okay—”

“—I _insist_.”

“Okay,” I choked out hoarsely before releasing my grip on the bag.  Sherwin flashed me another smile and swerved in front of me to lead me to my designated room.  I exhaled irritably and followed after him, chewing on the inside of my lip while we roamed throughout the halls.

“I’ve worked here for a long time,” he said.  I knew he was trying to make conversation, but I wanted nothing more than for these people to leave me to my lone silence.  “Pretty much grew up here, too.   It’s sad to see this place go.”

“I bet.”

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

I glared at the back of his head.  “Not particularly.”

“Well, you’ll find folks ‘round here are.  We love to spark conversation.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Best you just endure,” he advised, stopping in front of my room.  “Here we are, Room Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight.”

“Thanks,” I said brashly, yanking my luggage from his hand.  I walked inside when he unlocked and opened the door.  I set the suitcase down and turned to shut the door again to see Sherwin holding his palm out to me.

I stared at him, waiting for him to leave, but he continued with his expectant mannerisms.  “Aren’t you going to tip me?” he asked slowly.  It sounded to be more of a demand, and I figured that he wasn’t giving me much of an option.

“Of course,” I said in a hard voice.  I pulled out my wallet and offered him a twenty dollar bill.  He looked to it, skeptically for a moment, and then gave me another polite smile.

Sherwin thanked me and walked from my room.  I stood against the door, staring across the hall until I collected my patience. 

I placed the privacy placard on the doorknob, swung the door shut, and traveled over to the bed.  When I sat down, I flew backwards and sunk inwards.  The frame was metallic and old and felt unsteady, which caused me to become even more irate.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked myself softly and reached up to rub my temples.  “First you practically tell a distraught woman that her hotel sucks, and then you nearly pop Jeeves in the back of the head?  What has gotten into you?”

It was the exhaustion—the nightmares.  Lately, every little detail about life had me on edge.  It was constantly fatigued, irritable, and now I was being downright rude to everybody I came into contact with.  I had to get myself straight, for my sanity, and the sanity of those who would have to tolerate me.

I took a moment to study my surroundings.  The entire room, from the vintage décor to the musty smell of age, had me feeling as though I was starring in Stanley Kubrick’s _The Shining_. 

As I was studying a painting taking place in the Victorian Era, I felt my head begin to spin.  It felt as though the weight of the world was wrapped around my lungs—strangling them.  My chest began to heave up and down as it became harder and harder for me to breathe.  I placed my palm against my forehead in attempts to gain some sense of the world around me.  I was fading.  I could _feel_ myself fading.

“Not now,” I muttered to myself.

I forced myself from the bed despite the feeling of pure lead tied to my arms weighting me.  I took an uneasy step forward.  By this point, the world began to blur and I could not tell exactly where I was stepping.  I continued to try and move forward, but the violent shaking overtook my body and shoved me to my knees.  I crawled forward, nearly hyperventilating, feeling for my suitcase.  I patted at my surroundings and felt the dresser I had placed the luggage.  I grabbed either side of the furniture and tugged myself to stand.  I pressed all of my weight into the dresser.  It leaned backwards and slammed into the wall.  I smacked desperately at the top of it until I found my suitcase.  I ripped the zipper back and shoved my hand inside.

I frantically shoved my fingers in between my clothes.  The last sense of reality I had was quickly slipping away.  “ _It was you_ ,” I heard a distant voice say.  “ _You did it.  You’re responsible for what happened_.”

“No,” I said harshly.  “Get out of my head—GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

I wrapped my fingers around a cylindrical object and ripped myself backwards.  The force I exerted against the dress sent me flying backwards.  I crashed into the ground and felt the object roll away from my hand.  I pushed onto my back to see the dull shape of the dresser rocking back and forth.  I quickly rolled out of the way as it collided with the floor and shook the entirety of my room.

I forced myself onto my stomach, looking for that one familiar color.  I saw a deep yellow of the object I was searching so desperately for and began to crawl toward it with all of the strength I had left.  The blur of the object grew sharper and sharper as I closed in on it.  I was starting to notice the general shape of the individual pills in the bottle when I heard another voice—a voice so familiar that I stopped in my tracks.  I began to shake on top of the involuntarily trembling my body was already doing.

“ _Why?_ ” it asked.  This voice wasn’t distant.  It was directly in my ear, causing my heart to pound.  “ _Why did you do this to me?  You could have stopped it.  You could have saved me.  Why did you let this happen to me?_ ”

Hot tears were spilling down my cheeks now.  I let out a shaken and distressed noise.  I repeatedly shook my head, trying to make out words through my viciously quivering lips.  “I’m sorry,” I choked out.  “I’m so sorry…”

There were a series of voices now.  They started off as a mere whisper but quickly began to crescendo.  Their volumes maximized so greatly that I could feel them shaking my eardrums.  I screamed out for them to stop, but they only grew louder and louder.  I felt blood pouring out of my ears now.  In a great state of panic, I tried to reach for the bottle of pills again, but they were too far, and I had no semblance of strength left in my body.

I placed my palms to the floor and pushed upwards roughly.  It was enough to stand me up, but I couldn’t hold myself.  I collapsed again and felt my head crack against the fallen dresser.  I was hanging on my last thread of consciousness when a group of faces that I couldn’t focus on surrounded me.

I could hear the pitches of their voices, but not their individual words.

“ _You could have saved me_ ,” the voice came again.  “ _You let me die_.”

I was whispering my last apology when the world silenced.

I faded into blackness.


	3. Medication

I began to shift as I regained consciousness.  I could hear voices in the background and I was thankful that they weren’t the voices in my head.  Rather than hearing simply their pitches, I could hear their words as well.  The owners of the voices must have noticed my movements because I could hear shuffling enclosing on me in addition to the vibration of their footsteps on the floorboards.  My head was throbbing with pain.  I could feel sharpness on the side of my skull.  I started to open my eyes, but when I was overwhelmed with dizziness, I snapped them shut.

“Is she dead?” asked the shaking voice of a young girl.

“No, Tyler, she’s not dead,” said another, matured female voice.  “Go back to your room, okay?  Let the grownups handle this.”

There was a sigh of protest and footsteps exiting the room.  With one less member, the others moved in closer—so close that I could feel their breath on my face.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

“Oh, God, I hope she’s okay.  I thought she might be dead.  So many strange things have been happening around here.”

“She’s definitely alive.”

“She doesn’t really look it.”

“Seriously?”

“What?  Don’t give me that look.”

I made another attempt to open my eyes.  When I finally managed to, the light rapidly flooded into my corneas, causing me to squint.  I held my hand above my face to shield myself from the light.  I waited until they adjusted to the sudden brightness to study the faces.  My vision was still clearing out, but there were two faces I knew—Susan and Sherwin’s.  I moved my eyes to the left side of my body, where there were two men I didn’t recognize.  One was tall and brunette and the other was shorter with dirty blond hair.  The four of them were staring at me intently, which was beginning to make me uncomfortable.

“Are you all right?” the brunette male asked in a soft, lulling voice.

I looked up to him and then sat up slowly.  My hand flew to my head when it began to radiate pain across my entire skull.  The two men leaned down, helping me to sit up.  I looked between their faces and swallowed hard.  “What happened?” I asked hoarsely.

“It looks like you were having some trouble and you hit your head on the dresser,” the taller of the two men said.  “How did it fall over, anyway?”

I looked over to the dresser, which had since been lifted and put back into place.  I knew what happened—I remembered it clearly, but I didn’t want these people to think I was a complete lunatic.  “I don’t remember,” I lied.  “I just remember feeling dizzy and then everything went black.”

“It seems like you’re okay now,” he said, looking me over.  “Though, I think we should call the paramedics so that they can look you over, just to be sure.”

“No,” I said quickly.  “That won’t be necessary.”

“You hit your head pretty hard…”

“I’m okay,” I insisted.  I started to stand up, but my knees buckled.  I began to fall back to the floor when the dirty blond man caught me.  He stood me straight, but kept his arm around me for support.

Susan looked between us before taking a few steps back.  “I’m going to go check on Tyler.  Sherwin, can you get Miss Kelly some ice?”

“Of course, ma’am,” he replied, following her out the door.

I looked between the men, feeling extremely nervous to be alone with them.  I was on edge and ready to strike at any given moment necessary.  The one supporting me jerked me towards the bed, which caused me to stumble over my feet.  I glared up at him and shoved him off of me.  Despite being unstable, I slowly made my way to the bed and sat down.  The men stood in their spots, staring at me, shifting their weight.

I looked between them with squinted eyes.  “You don’t have to stay.  I’m fine now and, honestly, you’re making this a lot more awkward than this needs to be.”

“Oh, right,” the brunette said.  They began to turn, but noticed my bottle of pills on the floor.  The one with dirty blond hair squatted down and picked it up, studying the label.

I gritted my teeth.  My attempt at convincing these people that I wasn’t a lunatic was already a bust.  I stood up, marching over to the man and held my hand out, waiting for him to give me the bottle back.

He ignored my hand.  “‘Zyprexa,’” he said, rolling it between his fingers, “generically known as ‘Olanzapine’ prescribed to Ashley Heim.”  He then looked to me and flashed me a smile.  “Didn’t Susan Thompson jut refer to you as ‘Miss Kelly’?”

“The name on the bottle isn’t the same name I was referred by, so what?  What does it matter to you?”  I asked and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m just wondering who you really are.”

“Wouldn’t you just _love_ to know?”  I growled at him, snatching the bottle from his hand.  “You can kindly leave now.”

“That’s an illegal thing you’re doing, you know.”

“Thanks for the lecture, Dad.  I’ll be a good girl next time.”

The brunette glared at his counterpart and stepped in front of him, giving me a polite smile.  “Sorry about that, my brother can be a bit of a _jerk_ sometimes,” he said.  “I’m Sam; this is Dean.  We’re here antiquing.”

I took a step back, looking between them.  I knew their names and I knew their purpose.  They were Winchester brothers, sons of John Winchester; a family of well-known ‘Hunters’ of the supernatural.  I wasn’t going to let them know I knew them for fear that they would know me.  “Fascinating,” I said in an uninterested tone.  “Why don’t you go and do that?”

Sam frowned over to Dean and sighed, nudging him as he turned around.  Dean, however, stared at me, looking vaguely interested.  He took a step forward, flashing a charming smile.  “I’m also a licensed paramedic,” he lied through his teeth.  “So, why don’t I give you my number, and you can call me in case of any more trouble?”

“Not on your life.”

He looked taken aback for a moment.  He then nodded and took a step back.  “I get it,” he said.  “I’ll go.”

“Well, it’s about time,” I said.

His jaw tightened and then he turned away with Sam and led him out of the room.

I watched their backs and rolled my eyes when they were gone.  I walked over and shut the door behind him.  I returned to the bed and looked down to the pill bottle with a quiet sigh.  I opened the bottle, took one of the pills out, and forced it down my throat.  I then lay back on the bed and closed my eyes tightly. 

I was tired of the voices—tired of the nightmares, but nothing would stop them.  No amount pills or therapy has ever been enough, and I wasn’t exactly expecting things to change.  I felt trapped—I felt like a complete nut-job. I didn’t want to feel that way anymore.

At some point of lying on the bed and contemplating my life, I was overcome with exhaustion and succumbed into slumber.

* * *

  _It was black here—as black as black could possibly be.  There was nothing around me.  I was standing in the middle of nothingness—in the middle of the oblivion.  My body didn’t feel cold, but there was a white cloud of breath escaping from my lips.  I looked back and forth, but I continued to see nothing.  What kind of a dream was this?  I couldn’t make sense of what was happening.  My dreams—or rather nightmares—were always racy and filled with quickly passing images, but this was, quite literally, nothing._

_I took a step forward and saw the shape of a body appear in the distance when I did.  It was so far that I couldn’t tell who is could possibly be.  I started walking forward and so did the body across the way.  We were drawing closer to one another, but it was a slow process.  In hopes that I could quicken our meeting, I began to run, and so did the other.  I ran and ran and ran until I smacked into an invisible barrier.  I stood up and there he was—staring back at me—my father.  I took another step forward.  I was so close to the barrier that I could feel my breath bouncing back into my face._

_I looked into his brown eyes and felt my heart sinking.  He was wearing the same outfit he had the day of his murder.  Why couldn’t I escape this image?  Why did I continue to see him?  I wanted it to stop, but I wouldn’t—it never did._

_My father looked back at me.  He began to shake his head and I felt my heart sinking even further.  “Why?” he asked.  “Why did you let this happen?”_

_“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching forward to press my palm to the barrier between us.  “I’m so sorry for what happened.”_

_“You didn’t do anything,” he said.  “You watched me die.”_

_“Dad, I’m sorry,” I said desperately.  “I tried to help you, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t move.  I don’t know what happened.”_

_“You let me die.”_

_“I didn’t mean to.  I couldn’t move.  I didn’t know what that thing was.  What could I have done, Dad?”_

_“You could have saved my life.”_

_“I’m sorry!”_

_“How could you do that to me, Lexi?  How could you let your own father die?”_

_I shook my head, speechlessly.  I didn’t know what to say—I didn’t know what else to tell him.  I just stared at him, my palm pressed hard against the barrier.  He shook his head disapprovingly and turned his back.  He began to walk away from him._

_“Dad!”  I called out.  I began to pound my fists on the barrier in attempts to break through and reach him.  “Dad, don’t go!”  I cried desperately.  “Daddy, please!”_

_“It’s your fault, Lexiloo,” said his voice in my ear.  “You stood and watched me die.  You did this.”_

_I clamped my hands down on my ears, watching my father’s figure disappearing into the darkness.  “I’m sorry!”  I shouted to his back.  “I’m sorry for what I did!”_

_I began to hear voices calling my name.  I cringed at the sound.  I hadn’t heard my name in so long, and I was hoping to never hear it again, but now it was circling me.  There was nothing but ‘Lexanna’ over and over and over again._  

* * *

I startled awake, once again drenched in my own sweat.  I sat up and noticed lights flashing outside of my window.  I stood up and pulled the curtains back to see a coroner’s van, a police cruiser, and Susan giving a statement.  I furrowed my eyebrows and immediately jogged downstairs.  I went out the door to run into Dean’s back.  He turned and looked back to me, rolling his eyes.  “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“I have no interest in you,” I grumbled at him.  “I just want to know what’s going on.  Did something happen?”

“Would there be police and the coroner and something hadn’t happened?”

“Okay, smart ass.”

He chuckled under his breath and looked up when Susan turned around.  “What happened?” he asked, shoving himself in front of me.

I glared at his back and moved to stand next to him, look to Susan for an answer.

“The maid went into his room to change the sheets and she found him hanging from the ceiling fan.”

“That’s horrible,” I said with a glance to the coroner’s van.

“He was a guest?” Dean asked.

“He was with the company that bought the hotel.  You know, I just don’t understand what’s been going on around here.  So many strange things have been happening, one after another.  It’s like we’re cursed or something,” she laughed uncomfortably.

“Huh,” Dean nodded.

“If you guys want to check out, I’ll give you both full refunds.”

“No thanks,” I said.

“Yeah, I don’t scare that easy,” Dean added.

Susan nodded and gave us both a polite smile.  She moved around us and headed back into the hotel.  She was scared and nervous of what was happening in her hotel, and I began to wonder if there was something happening here.

Dean turned around and began to head up the stairs.  I followed him, glancing around.  “Is there something going on here that you know about and no one else does?” I asked him.

He turned around and narrowed his eyes at me.  “Why are you asking me?”

“You seem invested,” I said.  “I just want to know if there’s something going on.”

“No,” he said, turning back.  “Besides, how would I know?  I’m just here to look for some antiques.”

“ _Right_ ,” I said sarcastically, watching him ascend the stairs.

I stopped in my tracks and sat down on a step.  I had a strange feeling about this place—as if there was something supernatural happening here.  “Well,” I said to myself.  “It’s time to gear-up, Lex, because it looks like there’s a hunt.”


	4. Rag Doll

With the event of a possible hunt under my nose, I headed back to my hotel room. I glanced back and forth for any signs of Sherwin and quickly slipped inside. I placed the 'do not disturb' placard on the doorknob again and shut the door behind me. I walked over to my suitcase and zipped the top open. I pulled it up and rested in against the wall. I shoved my hands under my clothes and lifted two latches on the bottom and pulled it up, latching it again to the top half. I looked down to the small arsenal I had packed into my suitcase and began to pull out various items necessary for the hunt. As I was unpacking the arsenal, I felt my cell phone begin to vibrate in one of my back pockets. I felt around be fishing it from my pocket. I pressed it tightly between my cheek and shoulder to keep it in place while I continued pulling out weapons. I furrowed my eyebrows at the silence on the other end of the call. "Hello?" I called into the speaker. "Who's calling?"

"Is that you?" the female voice asked.

"It depends on who you're calling for," I said suspiciously. "Who is this?"

"It's me."

"I can't I know who 'me' is. I think you have the wrong number. I'm going to hang up now. I hope you dial properly in the future."

"Don't hang up!" she said desperately. "Louise, please, I need your help."

My eyes widened at the codename. "Dani," I said surely. "I haven't heard from you in weeks. Where are you? Are you okay?"

"In a real mess of trouble," she said.

"Tell me where you are and I'll come for you."

"No," she denied. I listened to her panting for several minutes. "Vultures," she whispered. "They are vultures everywhere."

"At least tell me where you are. I can call someone."

"I don't know where I am," she whispered into the phone. "It's dangerous for anyone to come. I wouldn't have even risked this call if I weren't completely important. Louise, I was kidnapped about a week ago. He brought me here."

"Who brought you there?"

"Kimber," she whispered.

My hands began to shake and my head began to spin. "Why would he be doing this?" I asked aloud, though it was a question directed towards myself. "Okay, Dani, relax. It's going to be okay. I'm going to call someone."

"You can't," she whispered. The other end went silent for one long, dragging second. "He'll kill me."

"Kimber would kill you? Dani, no, this is  _Kimber_."

"He's changed," she said. "Shit, I have to go. He's coming back."

"Wait, tell me where you are. Let me help you!"

I heard nothing but white noise in return. I was beginning to panic. "Dani, answer me," I called into the phone. After a few short moments, the line died out. I shook my head and rubbed my forehead furiously. "Danielle!" I screamed into the speaker. "Danielle, answer me!"

I snapped the phone shut and cursed under my breath. I began to shove every weapon I removed back into the suitcase. Regardless of whether or not there was something supernatural happening at the Pierpont Inn, finding Danielle was now of the utmost importance.

I zipped my luggage shut and pulled it off of the dresser. I made my way out of the room, key in hand, and walked down the stairs. On the ground floor, Sherwin and Dean are exploring the main room, looking at old photographs. I walked over to Sherwin and tapped his shoulder. I flashed I quick smile and held the room key up to his view. "I need to check out," I said.

The elderly man glanced to the younger man and then gave me a polite smile. "That would be something Ms. Thompson handles and she's currently asleep," he said. "Can't it wait until morning? It is the dead of night."

"No, unfortunately, it can't," I said urgently. "Can you just take the room key and whatever money I give you and call it a day?"

"Well, miss, I'm not inclined to—"

"—I get it," I interrupted and shoved the key into his hand. "However, this is very important and I don't really have time to sit and argue about it, so how about you take the key, take my money, and let me go on my way."

"Whoa, whoa," Dean said, raising his hand. "Relax."

"I'm sorry, does this concern you? No, I don't think it does."

Sherwin stepped between us and looked down to me. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is going to have to wait until the morning. I'm not qualified to handle the books and Ms. Thompson is sleeping."

"I have to leave!" I snapped at him. "Frankly, you can't imprison me here. I can either pay for the room or I can cheap-out on all of you and just drive away. Therefore, I think it would be easier for everyone involved to let me pay for the room and  _leave_."

Just as Sherwin opened his mouth to speak, Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. "What is so damn important that you have to verbally attack Old Father Time?" he asked, staring at me.

"This is none of your business," I hissed at him. "If I have to repeat myself again, I might just snap. Screw off, okay?"

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"A very pissed off human being who is prepared to start throwing punches at any given moment, so, if you could back off, that would great."

"Go ahead and deck me," he shrugged. "Who's to say I won't hit back?"

"Oh, please do. Make my day."

"Enough, you two," Sherwin intervened. "Wait here and I'll go wake Ms. Thompson so she can check you out."

I felt guilt split through my stomach. "No, that's I said. I'll wait until morning."

"Are you positive?" he asked. "You seem very frantic."

"I'm good," I lied. "I'll wait."

The bellhop watched me with concern in his eyes, but he nodded once and moved to the side of the two of us. I shot a hateful glare to Dean before I dragged myself, and my luggage, back up the stairs and into the hotel room. I threw the suitcase down on the top of the dresser and then threw myself down onto the bed. I placed my head in my hands and took a slow breath to calm my nerves. I reached into my pocket and pulled my prescription out and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed. I stared at the pills resting on the bottom and then pulled out my phone.

I spent the entire night redialing the number Danielle had called me from. Each time, I was sent to the voicemail, but I refused to give up. I continued to call in hopes that she would answer, but she never did. After hours and hours of calling the number, I closed the phone and threw it onto the bed. I began to pace around the room with my forehead resting against my hand.

I looked to the mobile device resting on the bed and sighed. I was incredibly worried about Danielle's safety. I felt it aching in my bones and tearing at my sanity. The question of whether or not she was still alive haunted the back of my mind. No matter how desperately I tried to shove that question away, it continued to resurface. However, the more prudent question haunting my mind revolved around Kimber. Why would he have kidnapped Danielle? What was the purpose of this? He wasn't a murderer and I couldn't fathom as to why she said he would kill her.

I pressed the tips of my fingers against my temples and began to rub in circular motions. I was beginning to drive myself mad with wonder and worry.

Outside, there was a loud crash. I ran to the window and peeked out the glass to see that a car had crashed into a tree. I furrowed my eyebrows and jogged out of the room. As I was climbing down the stairs, I saw the Winchester brothers ushering Susan Thompson inside. There was fear in her eyes and then I knew, in my heart, that there was something happening at this hotel.

I rushed down the stairs and pressed my back against the wall, listening to their conversation in the next room. I could hear the sound of a bottle rattling and glass being set down. It lifted from the table and was placed down again.

"What happened out there?" Susan asked.

"Honestly?" Dean asked. "We thought, at first, that it was a hoodoo curse, but no, that wasn't hoodoo. That was a spirit."

"That's insane," she said. "You're  _insane_."

"Not the first that's been said."

"Susan," Sam interrupted. "We don't exactly have time to gently bring you to understanding. We need to know when exactly your mother had her stroke."

"My mother?" she questioned. "What does my mother have to do with anything?"

"Please, just answer the question."

"About a month ago," Susan said.

"Around the time the killings started."

"Right," Dean agreed. "What does this mean?"

"Well, what if Rose was working hoodoo, not to hurt anyone, but to protect them," Sam suggested.

"You think she was using hoodoo to keep a spirit at bay?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Everything is fine and dandy until Rose has a stroke and then, suddenly, people are dying left and right."

"I don't believe this," Susan added shakily.

"Listen, sister, that car didn't try and run you down by itself," Dean said gruffly.

"Believe what you want," Sam said, "but your family is in danger. You need to get everybody out of here—your employees, you mother, your daughters."

"I only have  _one_  daughter."

"I thought Tyler had a sister named Maggie," Sam said, clearly confused.

"Maggie? Maggie is imaginary!"

"Where is Tyler?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

I heard the shuffle of their feet and bolted upstairs. I ran into Tyler's room and looked back and forth, but saw no sign of her there. I turned to exit the room when I ran into Sam's chest. Dean grabbed ahold of my arm and glowered down at me. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

Susan called out to Tyler and I glanced over to her. "She's not in here," I said and felt Dean's hands tighten around me. I shifted my gaze up to him, my jaw tightening.

"Okay, Susan, what do you know about Maggie?"

"Not much," she said, gazing at Sam as if he were insane. "All I know is that Tyler started to see her when my mother had her stroke."

"Did you know anybody by that name?" I asked, glancing between Sam and Dean, "someone who could have died here?"

"No, of course not!" she denied. She then paused and furrowed her eyebrows.

"What is it?" Dean asked, still holding onto me.

"My mother had a sister named Margaret. She never talked about her."

"Did she  _die_ here?" Sam asked.

"She drowned in the pool."

The brothers look to one another, trying to figure out where Tyler and Maggie could possibly be. I looked between their faces, shaking my head. "Go to the pool!" I shouted to them both.

Sam jogged out the door with Susan following suit. I tried to jerk away from Dean to follow them, but he only held onto me with a tighter grasp. "You're staying with me," he said, dragging me out of the door.

"Let go of me!" I demanded as I tried to pry his fingers off of my arm. "This would go a lot quicker if you weren't dragging me throughout the entire hotel!"

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, stopping us in the middle of the hallway. He jerked me towards him so that I would face him.

"We don't have time to play the detective game!" I barked at him. "Are you really willing to bet that little girl's life to know who I am right now?"

He peered down at me for several moments before letting go of my arm. He then darted after Sam and Susan. "Come on!" he yelled back to him.

I quickly followed him with my arms pumping at my sides. We ran around the side of the hotel and came to the doors that led to the pool. Sam tried to open the doors, but they were locked. Susan peered inside and called out for Tyler, who was looking to the girl, who we could not see.

Sam and Dean began to try and break the glass. I pulled Susan back so that she would not get hit by accident. The older brother turned to Ms. Thompson and asked if there was another door. She told him there was and then ran off to go to it. I looked watched Sam as he continued to try and desperately break the glass on the doors.

"Be resourceful," I muttered to myself as I looked around for anything that would assist in the escapade. I saw the hoodoo-marked urn and grabbed it. I tapped on Sam's shoulder and offered it to him. He gave me a grateful smile and began to smack it against the glass.

I looked inside to see that Tyler was gone from the railing and the water to the pool below was rippling with movement. I felt my heart sink. Were we too late in saving this little girl?

I took a step backwards and felt something against my tailbone. I furrowed my eyebrows and reached around my body to pull a pistol from the back of my pants. I remembered tucking it away before I had gotten my phone call from Danielle.

"Sam, step back!" I yelled.

He swung around to see the gun and swiftly shifted away from the door. I lifted the gun and shot at the glass several times. It shattered on the second shot and Sam lurched forward, shoving himself through the remainder of the glass. He placed his hand on the railing and lunged himself over it. He plunged into the pool below.

I jumped through the frame of the door and ran down the stairs on the side, standing by the pool. I eagerly watched Sam's figure moving under the water. Suddenly, he burst out of it and took a heavy breath inwards. He brought Tyler to the side of the pool and I grabbed onto her, laying her on her back on the ground.

Dean and Susan came running into the room. The four of us huddled around Tyler, waiting anxiously for any signs of life. Her mother was screaming and crying for her to wake up. For several moments, there were no responses. The girl then coughed water out of her lungs and sat up sharply. She opened her eyes and looked between us with obvious fright in her eyes.

"Do you see Maggie anywhere?" I asked her.

"She's gone," she said and hugged her mother desperately.

"You need to get your mother and get out of here," Sam advised.

Susan nodded and stood Tyler up, rushing her away from the pool. Sam, Dean, and I followed her back into the hotel.

We were waiting at the edge of the stairs when Dean turned to me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and gave me an expectant look.

I looked over to him and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I'll ask again: who the hell are you?"

I stared at him for a moment and then looked down, sighing quietly. "I know you're not antiquaries," I said, lifting my head again. I turned towards him and crossed my arms over my chest. "I also know that we have a few things in common."

"Like what?"

"Hunting," I explained. "You're Hunters. I'm a Hunter, too. Frankly, I think that's all you really need to know about me."

"No, you're gonna tell me your name."

"I'm not."

"You will," he said. "Or I'll shoot you."

"Go ahead," I said and raised my arms. "Shoot me."

"Dean, come on," Sam sighed at him.

"I want to know who the hell this chick is," he snarled at Sam. "You think it's just some big coincidence that we ended up here with another Hunter? No, I don't think so. She could be a freakin' demon for all we know!"

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed heartily. "I'm not a  _demon!_ "

"How the hell are we sure of that?!"

I shook my head in frustration. "If I were a demon, you would be dead."

"With all of these people around—I don't think so."

"Do you  _really_ think demons give a shit about people around? No."

"Yeah, well—"

"—shut up! You're an idiot!"

Before either of us could insult each other further, a scream came from upstairs. The three of us shot up to the attic, where Susan was standing with Tyler, staring at Rose's corpse. I looked between the brothers and sighed with a shake of my head. "Susan, you should call an ambulance."

We headed downstairs and I broke away from the group to go back to my room. I gathered my belongings, threw any unpacked objects into my suitcase and zipped it closed. I picked up my cell phone and the suitcase and headed downstairs. I walked outside to see Sam and Dean leaning against the 1967 Chevrolet Impala while they waited for the ambulance.

I walked to my car and placed my luggage into the back seat. I checked my phone for any unread notifications, but there was nothing. Fear for Danielle struck my heart again. I glanced up when the brother stood in front of me. I looked between their faces and then shook my head. "You're never going to give up, are you?"

"Not until you tell us who you are," Dean told me. "You're not Ashley Heim or anyone with the last name of Kelly. So who are you?"

"My name is Lexanna," I divulged in defeat.

"And the last name?"

"—is none of your concern."

He nodded. "Okay, Lexanna. How did you get into this job?"

"That's none of concern, either," I replied. "Look, this was a huge coincidence. I'm sorry for involving myself in your gig, but I don't ever expect to see either of you again, so I see no need for us to get nice and personal. You know my first name, you know I'm a Hunter, and that's all you need to know—maybe even a little more than necessary. Therefore, we can drop the interrogation, because there's nothing more that you need to know, and nothing more that I'm going to tell you."

"We just wanted to know if you were bad news or not," Sam added.

"I understand that, but you don't need to know anything about me. We're not going to be friends. Hell, I doubt we'll ever see each other again. I'm not interested in personal relationships. I just want to do my job."

"What job is that?" Dean asked.

" _It's none of your business_."

Throughout our conversation, the paramedics arrived and took Rose's body on the gurney and into the back of the van. Susan walked over to us and gave us a brief smile. "Do you think it's over with now?" she asked.

"We think so," Dean nodded.

"My mother—do you think that was Margaret? The paramedics said it was another stroke, but I'm not sure I believe that."

"We don't know," he said, "but it's possible."

"Susan, I'm sorry," Sam butted in.

She looked up to Sam, tilting her head. "You have no reason to apologize. You've given me everything."

She then embraced Sam in a tight hug and looked over when Tyler joined her. "Are you ready to go?"

Tyler nodded and I looked to her. "Are you sure you don't see Maggie anymore?" I asked softly.

"I'm sure," she said and then took her mother's hand. "Thank you," Susan said. "All of you."

We watched as she walked away with Tyler. I looked up to the Winchester brothers and nodded politely. "Good doing business with you," I said and got into my car. I looked at them through the window and then started my engine. I backed away from the Impala and the brothers before setting back onto the road again.

I had a new mission: to find Danielle.


	5. The Bird and the Worm

After spending three days on the road, I still had no leads on where to find Danielle. The feeling of doom was lingering within the pit of my stomach; daring to offer a solution as to why I couldn't find her. The only answer I could think of was that she was dead, but that wasn't an answer I was willing to accept. While part of me insisted on her lack of existence, another part of me merely  _hoped_  she was alive—somewhere. I hadn't thought to track our conversation, and even if I had, the call hadn't lasted enough for me to have successfully pinpointed a location. Still, I hope—prayed, even—that she was out there. Somewhere; anywhere. All I had to do was find her, and I was going to try my damnedest to do so.

As I was driving throughout the state of Oregon, a familiar feeling washed over me. It was the same feeling I experienced when I felt myself losing lucidity. I closed my eyes tightly; briefly; before opening them again. "You're okay," I muttered to myself. "You're going to be fine. You're not going to black out."

Despite the attempt to reassure myself, the feeling continued washing over me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled equally as heavily. I smacked my right hand to my cheek. I needed to do everything I could to keep myself from fading away, but, with the feeling looming over me, I knew the darkness would soon dare to encompass me. Soon, the same feeling I experienced when the darkness overtook me spread throughout my body. Yet, to my surprise, there was no blackness.

' _Malheur County,_ ' whispered a voice in my head.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the words. I placed my palm against my forehead and shook my head briefly. I mumbled to myself, "You're going crazy, Lex."

' _Malheur County,_ ' again came the voice.

As desperately as I wanted to pretend as though the voice wasn't there, and that I hadn't heard anything, I had the desire to listen to its instructions. At some point, I knew I was going to lose my sanity entirely—permanently, and if listening to one of the voices in my head was going to push me over that edge, at least it would have happened while trying to do right by my only friend.

I pressed my foot harder on the gas pedal and searched for an exit to Malheur County while my car sped up. After nearly forty-five minutes, I saw a small white side on the left side of the road informing me that I would be in Malheur County within the next six miles. I leaned back against my seat and exhaled slowly. I was hoping this was where I would find Danielle. I was hoping this was where she would still be alive.

Six miles later, I was in Malheur County with a population of about thirty thousand people. I pulled my car into the parking lot of a Motel 6, silenced the engine, grabbed my bags, and went into the building. I made my way to the front desk, where a woman near to my age was flipping through a magazine. I placed my card down in front of her and investigated my surroundings as well as I could while standing in one place.

She took the credit card, began entering my information, and slipped a laminated motel-card towards me. "Could you please fill one of these out, Miss Kelly?"

I grabbed a pen from the nearby holder and began jotting down my information as quickly as possible. I heard the woman mutter something to me while I wasn't listening. I lifted my head and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Pardon?"

"I asked if there was some sort of special occasion going on."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some girl checked in about a week ago by the name of Virginia Kelly. I kind of assumed she was your sister, or something."

My eyes flashed to her. "Which room was she staying in?"

"Thirteen," she answered, shrugging. "She hasn't checked out yet, but I haven't seen her recently, either. Wonder if she got caught up with that guy who came by for her or something."

"What guy?" I asked urgently, leaning closer. "What did he look like?"

"He was tall, dark brown hair, brown eyes," she said, looking up to me. "Kind of looked like you, actually, but not exactly, you know. Are you all siblings, or something?"

"Or something," I said, flashing a quick smile. "If you don't mind, I'll room with Virginia. She is my sister, after all."

"What's up with the names?" she asked, handing me a spare key to the room.

"Names?"

"You know. Georgia and Virginia. Were your parents obsessed with the states?"

"Yes," I answered slowly. "Big on traveling."

"Well, it's weird. Anyway, enjoy your stay."

I rolled my eyes, snatched the key, and quickly found the room. I unlocked the door and went inside. There was nothing unordinary about the room; nothing that would give me a lead as where Danielle could possibly be. I threw my luggage down on the bed and began to scour every nook and cranny for the reason she was in Malheur County.

I searched everywhere I could possibly think of—from under the bed, the closet and the drawers of the dresser. There was no sign that Danielle had ever been here. The feeling of doom returned to the pit of my stomach. I was at the point where I could no longer try and deny the fact that she was, very possibly, perhaps, in fact, dead.

I flung myself down to the bed and placed my head in my hands. "Goddammit, Dani," I whispered to myself, feeling my emotions beginning to overwhelm me. "Where the hell are you?"

Moments after talking to myself, my cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I quickly scrambled to pull it out, rip it open, and shove it to my ear. "Hello?" I called desperately into the speaker. "Thelma, is that you?"

"Oh, Lexi," said a masculine voice with a patronizing tone. "These little nicknames really are quite pathetic."

I frowned at the familiarity of the voice. I recognized it, but I couldn't put my finger on who it could possibly be.

"Oh, Lexi?" it came again. "Are you there, Lexiloo?"

My heart skipped a beat at my childhood nickname. "Kimber?" I asked incredulously. "Is that you?"

"I am truly disappointed to know that you didn't figure it out sooner," he answer, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Anyhow, a little bird told me that you were in town. Have you come for your little pet?"

" _My little pet?_ " I mocked. "Where is she?"

"Well, if you really want to know, I suppose we'll have to meet again, won't we? It's been quite some time, hasn't it? Five years, give or take. Do you remember our lasting meeting, Lexiloo?"

I pressed my lips together and lingered in silence for a few moments. "Yes, I do."

"Of course you do," he said, the patronizing tone returning to his voice. "It wasn't the ideal separation, but I'm sure you know that."

"Kimber, you can't think that I—"

"—now, now, no time for remorse, Lexi. I know how  _eager_  you are to see sweet, little Danielle again. If you want that to happen, you'll meet me at the nearest warehouse in the county."

"What have you done with her?"

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?"

" _Kimber,_ " I growled. "What has gotten into you? Where the  _hell_  is Danielle?"

"The nearest warehouse, Lexi. I'll be waiting."

Before I could slip in a response, the call died out. My heart began to palpitate in my panic. I rose off of the bed and ran out of the motel as quickly as my legs would allow. I completely ignored the thought of taking my car and began running down the street, looking for any warehouses I could find.

I ran and ran until I noticed a warehouse in the distance. It looked to be abandoned. Whether or not this was the correct place, I didn't know. All I knew is that I would search Malheur County up and down until I found Kimber and Danielle alike. I ran for the building and threw myself inside. The door slammed shut behind me and echoed off of the walls. I looked back and forth, but there was no one inside. It was obvious that this facility hadn't been used in years.

"Kimber!" I yelled out to the echoing walls. "Where the hell are you!?"

There was nothing—purely silence. I took a few steps forward and peered into the darkness for any signs of movement. The air was still and the rooms were silent. I figured I had gone to the wrong place. As I was turning around to head to the next warehouse, a metallic objected smashed into my skull, rendering me unconscious.

* * *

In the near distance, there was a repetitive dripping of a leaky pipe.  _Plop, plop, plop_  into the same puddle, one after another. It was enough to drive any person insane, especially for someone who barely had sanity left to cling to.

I slowly began to open my eyes. My head was throbbing with sharp pain. I craned my neck to turn my face upwards. I forced my eyes open and squinted at the beam of sunlight shining down from part of the roof that was missing. It was aimed directly on me, as though I were placed in a spotlight. I attempted to move my arms, only to find that I was bound to a chair.

"Kimber," I muttered. "You did this, didn't you, you bastard?"

"It's not very kind to call people vulgar names, Lexi," his soft voice came from in front of me. I opened my eyes further, looking into the darkness, but I couldn't spot his shape. I could feel his presence near, however.

"You asked me to meet you," I said hoarsely. "Why smack me in the head and tie me to a chair? This isn't a very civil meeting."

"I don't know what gave you the impression that this meeting would be civil. I had no intentions of it being so. How foolish of you to assume such things."

I cleared my throat. "Cut the shit. You baited Danielle to get me here—now I'm here. What do you want?"

"To have a little discussion."

"About  _what?_ "

"In due time," he said.

Kimber stepped forward; into the light. There was something different about him—darker. Some part of him that I had never remembered seeing, even throughout my childhood. He stared at me with dark, angry eyes. I lifted my eyes to meet his. Whoever this was, standing before me, was not Kimber—not anymore.

"Where's Danielle?" I demanded.

"You should worry about your own wellbeing and not Danielle's. She's not the only tied to a chair, now is she?"

"That whole phone call—it was staged, wasn't it? Was that even Danielle?"

"Oh, yes, of course. It was very much Danielle. It's hard to fake a voice without the voice itself, don't you think?"

"So, what was it? You kidnapped her? Forced her to call me?"

"Something of that sort, yes," he nodded, then tilted his head slightly. "I did, in fact, kidnap Danielle. From that Motel 6 you're currently staying at. I brought her back, tied in her the same chair in which you are sitting, held her cell phone to her ear and, say, gave her a script. She did very well. I am so proud. She would be a fantastic actress."

"What is going on, Kimber? Why the hostage situation? If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called me. This isn't like you."

"Many things have changed in five years, including the two of us. I'm not the same person you remember, nor are you the same person  _I_  remember. You haven't been the same since we last saw one another."

"No matter how much you would have changed in five years, you wouldn't have become  _this_. This is the work of…"

"Of what?" he asked.

"A monster."

A devilish smile spread across his lips. "A monster," he repeated, nodding his head a few times. "You've hit the nail on the right head, Lexanna. The work of a monster this situation is, indeed. However, you're quite mistaken. I'm not the monster here. That would be you."

"I'm a monster?" I laughed. "How do you figure?"

"Oh, little sister, your naivety is truly uncanny."

"Naivety?"

"Lack of experience, wisdom, or judgment."

"Thank you for the grammar lesson," I grumbled. "You know what I meant."

"Your ignorance is petty, Lexanna. Not to mention, something I have very little patience for," Kimber said. "Think, little sister. When was the last time we were face-to-face? What happened?"

She closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I looked up to him. "It was the night Dad died."

"I think you mean the night Dad was  _murdered_."

"Yeah, the night Dad was murdered."

"Why  _ever_  did that happen?"

"I know you're hinting that it was my fault, but how could it have been? I wasn't the one the clawed him to death."

"Perhaps not, but you were the one that sat roadside as an audience member. Do you think that doesn't make you equally as responsible? You did nothing to stop it. You simply watched. You may as well have had a bag of popcorn resting in your lap."

"There was  _nothing_  I could do!"

"Do you mistake me for a fool?"

"Kimber, I tried to help him. I wanted nothing more than to stake the thing that was tearing him apart, but I  _couldn't_. I can't explain what happened. I tried to move, but there was nothing. I stayed perfectly in place."

"Mm," he nodded. "How fascinating."

"Please believe me," I begged. I looked up to him and swallowed the hard lump in my throat. "I didn't want him to die. I wanted to help him."

Kimber stared at me with his dark eyes for several moments before beginning to walk circles around my chair very slowly. "You know, Lexanna, birds are truly intriguing creatures. Many mistake them for being unintelligent, but they're rather cunning," he said, then paused in front of my chair. He leaned forward, placing his hands to the arms, and inching his face close to mine. "Did you know that birds, while hunting for worms, will try and snatch them from the ground? If the worm digs itself deep enough into the soil, to where it's safe and unreachable, birds will tap the concrete with its beak so that the worm thinks it has walked away? Then, when everything is quiet, and it thinks it is safe, the worm will poke its head out from the soil, then the bird will snatch it from the ground."

I stared into his eyes and furrowed my eyebrows. "What's your point?"

"Well, my point is that; you're the worm, and I'm the bird."

"The bird and the worm," I nodded. "How clever of you."

"Why, thank you. I do find myself to be quite bright."

"What was the point of bringing me here? To confront me about Dad's death? Could have been done easier with a phone call."

"No, no," he shook his head, backing away from the chair. "This isn't a confrontation. This is an act of revenge."

"Tying me to a chair and forcing me to listen to your voice is an act of revenge?"

"You've always thought of things so simply, little sister," he said, a smirking rising along his lips. "I admire you for that, but no, tying you to a chair is no way to be vengeful. No, this is much more—a façade, if you will."

"Where's the underlying appearance beneath the concealment, then?"

Kimber flashed a quick smile. "That would be this," he said, removing a handgun from the pocket of the pea coat on his body. "This is the silver lining."

I pressed my lips into a thin line at the sight of the gun. "Silver linings usually entail a positive outcome, you know."

"This is a positive outcome," he said, feigning confusion. "You see, as my act revenge for allowing our father to die, I'm going to kill you."

" _What?_ "

"I'm sorry, am I not being understood?" he wrenched his face into concern before placing the barrel of the gun to the middle of my forehead. "Let me make this easier to understand: I am going to pump an iron round directly into your skull."

"No you won't," I shook my head, looking up to him. "I'm your baby sister. You won't kill me. You don't have the audacity."

"Let's not beat around the bush, here. You're saying I don't have the balls, but you're wrong. I have been meticulously planning this for months. I am very much audacious enough to kill you here and now. Which is what I intend to do."

I shook my head several times. "No. No, you won't."

He stared at me for a few long seconds before raising the gun and releasing a bullet into my leg. I screamed out in pain and looked down to the bleeding wound. I took a few sharp breaths and glared up to him. "Have you lost your fucking mind!?"

"No, I'm very sane. Quite clearheaded, in fact."

I looked down to my leg with my jaw clenched. I took a few heavy breaths before looking up to him. "That was just my leg. You love me too much to shoot me in the hit. Right, big brother?"

"It's not wise to patronize someone with a gun."

"You won't do it—you can't. I'm your little sister. You love me."

"No, you see, I love Acelyn. At one point, yes, I did love you. However, that's no longer the case. I feel no love for the person who sat by and watched my father die."

"Jesus Christ, Kimber, you  _can't_  be serious. I tried to help him! I did everything I could, but I was frozen in place! I'm sorry, okay? I'm  _sorry_  that he died. I'm  _sorry_  that I stood there. I didn't want that to happen!"

"Look into my eyes and tell me if I am serious," he said blankly with his eyes locked to mine.

I shifted my gaze to match his. I looked into his eyes—studied the darkness in them. As much as I wanted to continue tantalizing him; I knew there was nothing but seriousness lying within his brown irises. There was no remorse; no love—merely the intent to murder.

I looked away from him and drew in a sharp breath. Where had my brother gone?

"I know," I said quietly. "I know you're serious—I can see that now, but I'm begging you; don't do this. Kimber, please, don't  _do_ this. I did something horrible; I know that. I allowed someone so important to all of us meet his demise, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for being an accomplice to murder. I'm asking you,  _please_ , don't hurt me. If you feel any love for me, somewhere deep down; let me go."

My brother watched me in silence for several dragging minutes. Within his eyes, it looked as though he was at war with himself. His eyes shifted between hardness and softness. The softness, however, was quickly overturned by the hardness. His eyes flashed cold again. "That's the predicament," he began. "I feel nothing but pure hatred for you. There is not one single ounce of love or forgiveness in my soul for you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I pressed my lips back together when he brought the gun level with my chest. We held a stare as he placed his index finger atop the trigger. I used my eyes to plead with him, but his gaze held nothing in return. As Kimber's index finger began to pull the trigger, I allowed my eyes to close. "I'm sorry," I whispered to anyone I had ever wronged, even though they would never hear it.

For a few seconds, the sound of nothingness lingered in the frozen air. As I sucked air into my lungs—the last breath I would take—the thunderous crack of the bullet launching from the barrel of the handgun echoed through the air. The rushing of the bullet rippling through the air, towards my body, pierced my eardrums. The scene was agonizingly slow. There was no way to calculate the impact of the bullet in a moment of lethargy such as this.

My bones rattled viciously when the bullet punctured my torso, and white hot pain went radiating throughout my body. The impact of the bullet sent me flying backward. The chair slammed into the ground, causing my face to scrape against the rough concrete floor. Warm, thick blood began to pour out of my body from the space between my each side of my ribcage.

Kimber's feet shuffled slowly towards me. I forced my eyes open and looked up. He was squatting before me now, studying the state I was in. An evil smile split across his face before he spoke calmly. "Sleep now, little sister."

He reached forward and pulled my eyelids down.

I was washed away with familiar darkness. The sound of his footsteps faded away until I was left in the silence with my body growing cold as unconsciousness and death crept over me.

This is what it was like to die—silent and numb.


	6. Coma Black

_This wasn't death._

_This was as crippling and toxic as death would feel, but it was, undoubtedly, something different. Perhaps it was rebirth—but perhaps it was simply the nearest one could get to the experience of death. If this were death, surely I would have passed into that realm long ago. However, that was not the case. This was the stage between life and death—the limbo of waiting until your heart continues its rhythm, or ceases its beat. It was, for all intents and purposes, a deliberation. Will I live—or will I die?_

_It was an out-of-body experience. I could see myself sitting in pitch darkness, but under a dimmed spotlight. I could see my legs pulled into my chest, my chin atop my knees, and my arms embracing my limbs to my body. Yet, my thoughts were my own. My voice still echoed within my skull. I was still in that body, but with the simple privilege of seeing myself from an outsider's perspective._

_What would happen now? Was I going to live, or was I going to die?_

_There were no answers. The deliberation hadn't yet ended. The worth of my existence was yet to be decided, and I could nothing but sit under this fading spotlight and continue to wait. As the person I was, or rather, had come to be, my patience was wearing thin. If I were to live, I wanted to be alive—if I were to die, I wanted to be dead. I did not want to continue festering in this abyss while my body lie bleeding and rotting in the present. I decided, if there were such a thing; this would be a fate worse than death._

_Without a doubt, I would rather be in heaven—given I deserved reservation for such niceties—or even hell—than this limbo… This confounded, insanity-enabling oblivion. I wondered if this was what happened while comatose. The soul is neither alive nor dead—therefore, must be awaiting deliberation. Little do they know; the chances are high that there would be no such cogitation. Therefore, here they remained: doomed to an eternity in this nullity. Yes, I would rather die._

_Why? Why was I so overwhelmed with bitterness and anger? For so many years, it was all I could feel. The death of my father pushed me straight on the path to hell, but, whilst on my journey into unavoidable hell, there was also vengeance. The desire to avenge my father's murder is what drove me, and for what? To be shot down by my own brother—my own blood? I was at the point where I doubted the fidelity of blood's thickness versus water. My family has displayed no loyalty thus far, nor had they for years before my father's untimely demise. Somehow, I found that mere people have showed me loyalty—even complete strangers. I could run a list in my head of acquaintances who had shown me far more loyalty than my family ever had._

_There was Marjorie Sutton; the elderly woman who drove me to her home when she found me collapsed in the middle of the street outside of my old house. She never questioned as to why I had crippled on myself—never questioned my tears, nor the blood stained on my clothes. She solely wrapped me in her coat and coaxed me into the backseat of her outdated Volkswagen. While we drove, she spoke of her late husband, Edgar, and the upcoming marriage between her granddaughter, Colleen, and a man she thought undeserving of Colleen's affections._

_It was interesting; the most trivial details one could remember about an otherwise trivial encounter._

_To most, it would have been a minute gesture, but to me—a young girl stricken with grief and guilt—it was a mountain rather than a molehill. Marjorie Sutton had given me great kindness amongst a cruel moment in my life by lifting me from the street, driving me in that lilac-scented Volkswagen, speaking of her family members, and bringing into the privacy of her home for a hot meal, a shower, and some money for a motel. Above all of her kindnesses, I most appreciated—and still do appreciate—her lack of judgment; of questions. I will always remember Marjorie Sutton. I wish her well._

_Then there was Susan Thompson, who put full loyalty into my assistance in saving her young daughter. Even that was more loyalty than my family had ever presented._

_Many names stuck out in my mind, but the loudest of them was Sam Winchester._

_Without knowing who I was, he had unwavering faith in me. It was something I had never felt before. His display of it wasn't with words or actions. The display came through in his eyes and his demeanor. He had faith that I would help with the case, but also a deeper kind of faith… The kind where he had faith that I was a good person with good intentions and a large heart. Why he would have such belief in a stranger who had lied about her own name, I could never say, but he did. Perchance it was hope for himself reflected into me. Maybe there was a chance that he, as I had, felt there was some—albeit unexplainable—connection between us. It seemed as though we were almost one in the same—drawn to one another._

_'Foolishness,' I thought. 'You'll never see Sam Winchester again, Lex. Why cloud your mind with thoughts of him? There was no connection—there was nothing. Your emotional state calls for you to cling onto any passing thing in dire hope that, one day, you'll be pulled from the deep dark nothing inside of you. It's not going to happen. You're not a child anymore. It's time to abandon blind faith and petty hopefulness.'_

_Time in limbo was, as I had expected, driving me mad._

_My mind had drifted back to places I had thought I would never return to. If I were not stuck in this blackness, under this spotlight, I would have never thought back to Marjorie Sutton—or even considered the possibility that there was something drawing Sam and I together. More so, I definitely wouldn't have nearly convinced myself that any strangers have ever shown any loyalty to me. My time in limbo was pulling me back towards childlike fantasies. It was time to succumb back to harsh reality._

_My out-of-body experience ended abruptly. I was still in limbo, but I was experiencing my surroundings in first-person now. The change between third-person and first-person must have been me shifting away from my fantasies. I looked around the outside of the spotlight's sheath, but saw nothing but black. I held my legs tighter to my chest and stared ahead—continuing to await my deliberation._

_Being trapped within my own body was unremarkably boring. There was nothing for me to do—no ways for me to entertain myself._

_"Within my own body," I muttered to myself. At sudden, I perked up. I was trapped inside of myself. Naturally, there was plenty I could be doing. I could explore and unveil desires, thoughts and emotions otherwise foreign to me. I was deep within myself now—all things lay bare here._

_I stood from my resting position and began to walk into the darkness. Much to my surprise, the spotlight followed me. It would be my guide throughout my own soul. "If I live," I said to myself, "I may as well write soul-walking into a book of some sort."_

_As I walked further, reels of what appeared to be old films surrounded me. I turned and looked into one, only to discover they were reels of all of my memories scrolling before me, and, therefore, in some way, they were old films. Some of these held memories I could no longer recall, from my birth and on. It was strange to see my own life playing in front of my own eyes. I saw the doctors that birthed me; my father's overjoyed face when he first held me in his arms; Kimber at five years-old and Acelyn at two as they peeked over my father's arms to see my newly-born face. It was almost relieving to see the unadulterated happiness on my family's faces. It was something I had never truly known, except for now._

_The reel continued to scroll and I saw a face I had never seen before. I took a step back, breathless and awed by the sight. It was the appearance of a woman only slightly older than myself presently. I looked into her features and saw myself—the dark brunette hair; fair complexion and blue-green eyes. It was the face of my mother—looking down to her newborn daughter with every inch of love I could ever imagine feeling. From the little information that my father gave me, my mother had died when I was still an infant. He never said how it happened, but told me it was an 'accident'. As I grew up, there were no photographs of her displayed around the house. It figured it was too hard for my father to bear—seeing the captured image of his deceased wife haunting the very house I presumed she died in. I'm not sure I could have braved such things, either. He was left a widow with three young children to look after—the last thing he needed was to remind himself of her death with photographs—photographs that would never be able to fill the void left within his heart._

_"I see the same pain in you as I saw in him that night," came a soft, yet familiar voice on the left side of me. I turned towards it to see my mother standing before me. She was wearing a white dress and a white flower in her hair. It was a capture of beauty I had always wished to know as a child._

_"You…" I said slowly. "You're not real, you can't be. I never knew you, and you can't be a ghost. Why would a ghost be hiding inside of my own soul?"_

_"Yes," she said softly, meeting her identical eyes with mine. "I'm a figment of your imagination, but why should that be ruined by technicalities? I think you're okay with an imaginary image such as this."_

_"I am," I agreed with a shaking voice. "Throughout my whole life, I wanted nothing more than see you—hear you; touch you. Even if it's not really you… I think I can still revel in this moment."_

_She smiled. "Of course you can, Lexanna. This is your soul. You're in control here," she told me and then opened her arms. "Come; revel."_

_I ran to her—faster than I have ever ran. I threw my arms around her imagine and found myself surprised at its wholeness. Every other image I had ever seen—primarily of my father—was untouchable. When I tried to touch him, I passed right through him. The hardness of my mother's arms around me; the realness of my face in her chest; was wonderful._

_She threaded her fingers into my hair. I lost all control I had over my emotions and broke down. This was all I had ever wanted. "My sweet Lexanna," she cooed. "It's hard for me to see you so weary. You're too young to be this sad and hateful."_

_"I have to be," I choked. "It's all I have left."_

_"No," she fought with a shake of her head. "You have more than this. You just don't see it. You're too blinded by your rage and desire for vengeance. Can't you see, Lexanna? This wrath you've pitted into your soul is tearing you apart. You're at thread's end. You need to let go of your grief, your pain, your hatred and your vengefulness."_

_"I know this the logical part of my subconscious trying to convince me to stop chasing revenge."_

_My mother gave a soft laugh. "Yes, of course, but how nice it is to hear from your mother."_

_"It's more than that," I replied quietly. "Much more."_

_"Nonetheless, you should stop. If you wake up from this nightmare, you should lead your life down a different path. What will you gain from revenge, Lexanna? What does finding that monster hold in store for you?"_

_"Redemption," I admitted. I hung my head in shame. "It's my fault."_

_"You father's death was not your fault," she said, almost sternly. She took my face into her hands and hand me look to her. "You know, as well as I, that you are not responsible for this. How could you be? You tried to help. No one may believe that, but you and I know you gave it your all."_

_"Why?" I questioned, closing my eyes tightly momentarily. "Why couldn't I do anything? Why couldn't I move?"_

_"I know why," she said. "Lexanna, it's because—"_

_"—it's time to wake up."_

_I stared up at my mother. She was speaking, but I couldn't hear her voice. There was another overlapping it—a male voice I couldn't recognize._

_"What did you say, Mom? I didn't hear."_

_"It's time to wake up," the voice said again._

_After a mere second, I was rushing away from my mother. It wasn't by my own legs, but I was falling in time, rushing towards a bright light. I cried out for her, reaching my arms ahead to try and grab her again. I didn't want to be ripped away from her so soon. I wanted a few more minutes with her. Please, Lord, only a few._

_"Mom!" I cried. "Mom, don't go!"_

_"It's time to wake up, Lexanna."_

_"No, wait, please!"_

* * *

"It's time to wake up."


	7. Heaven and Hell

"It's time to wake up."

My eyes slowly began to open. The light flooding in was blinding. I put my hand over my eyes for a few moment before drawing it away to force my eyes open completely. I was no longer in the warehouse. In fact, I had no idea  _where_  I was. All I knew is that it was someone's house.

"It is relieving to see that you are with us."

I jolted upwards and stared at the man I didn't know. He was lingering near the doorway, staring back at me. He was tall and thin with long black hair that framed his face and deep maroon eyes. I held the blanket covering me closely to my chest and swallowed nervously. "Who are you?" I asked. "Where am I?"

"My name is Adalcus Valeur," he answered and brought me a cup of tea atop a saucer. "You are in my home."

I looked to the tea skeptically, but held it in my hands. "Who are you?"

"I have already told you."

I opened my mouth to retaliate the statement, but quickly changed the course of my words. "How did you find me?"

"That is not yet important," he said. "Drink the tea. You will feel better."

"Not important?" I asked incredulously. "I think it's relatively important that you magically found me in an abandoned warehouse where I had gotten shot."

"It is not yet important," Adalcus repeated.

"How did we get back here?"

"I carried you."

"You  _carried_  me?"

He looked up to him, staring at me with a blank expression. "That is what I said."

"How far did you carry me?"

"Many miles."

"How is that even possible? Are you bionic?"

A grin spread across his lips. "Not quite."

"Well, I—"

"—drink your tea. We will converse when you feel well enough to join me in the dining room."

I stared after him as he exited the room. Needless to say, I didn't feel comfortable in a strange house with a strange man. I wanted to know how he found me—how I got here—why I was here. I looked down to the tea hesitantly. For all I knew it could be poisoned. I raised my arm to take a sip from the cup and winced at the pain in my abdomen. I set the saucer aside and pulled my shirt up, studying the bandaging around my upper-stomach. "I guess the deliberation finished," I muttered to myself. "I was worthy enough to live."

I drank the tea as instructed. After I had, I forced myself from the bed despite the excruciating pain it took to move. I opened the door to the bedroom and exited into an intricately decorated hall. I followed down it, glancing between the numerous doors and decorations—the majority of which were pieces of art and sculptures. The hall broke off into the living room, which had a meticulously planned color scheme of browns and whites. The house was extremely large and elegant and well-decorated. I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't shocked at its display.

I followed through an archway, where Adalcus was sitting at a dark oak table with a very small white-haired woman. I looked between them nervously before joining them. The woman looked over to me, then to Adalcus. "She made it, then?"

"As it seems," he answered. "Hello, again, Lexanna. How are you feeling?"

I stared at him, mouth agape. "How do you know my name?"

He gave me a smile, but chose not to answer my question. "How are you feeling?" he asked again.

"Pained," I answered. "Getting shot isn't exactly a rodeo."

"I would imagine not," he agreed. "Whether or not you would survive remained in question for quite some time. However, I managed to assuage the bleeding and bandage your wound. You fought your way away from death."

I nodded slowly, feeling awkward among these strangers. "Are you ever going to answer any of my questions?" I asked. "I have a lot of them."

"After breakfast," he replied and stood from the table. "Lexanna, acquaint yourself with my lover, Nesilee Bents. I must attend to the food."

He disappeared into the kitchen and I was left alone with the white-haired woman. She looked over to me and nodded politely. "Hey."

"Hi," I greeted slowly before looking down to my hands.

"He saved your life, you know. You should be a little more grateful."

I looked up to her quickly. "What? I—I am grateful, I don't know what you mean."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it," Nesilee scoffed. "You wake up in the privacy of his home, drink the tea he made you, join him in his dining room while he's making you breakfast, and all you do is question him. You haven't even stopped to thank him. Hasn't that even occurred to you?"

"Well, forgive me for being a little confused," I retaliated defensively. "Understandably, I'm on edge from waking up in some house with two strangers. Naturally, I want to know who he is and why I'm here."

"Selfish," she muttered and rolled her eyes.

"I am  _not_ selfish! I just—"

"—she is entitled to her skepticism, Nesilee," Adalcus interrupted as he brought plates of food to the table. "You would be equally as distrustful if you were in a situation such as hers. That should be taken into consideration."

"I'm only coming to your defense, Addy."

"Thank you," he said to her. "Nevertheless, that is quite unnecessary."

"She's right," I sighed. "You should have thanked you instead of questioning you. So, thank you."

"You are most welcome," he replied. "You should not fret over your questions. I sympathize with your apprehension. I intend to answer your questions as well as I can. Even so, they are not exactly straightforward answers. Many come with a plethora of explanation that I am not inclined to give at this moment in time."

"Of course," I rushed. "I understand. I'll ask afterward. Um, thank you for making breakfast."

He nodded to me. "Gorge yourself."

The three of us ate breakfast in an awkward silence. There was so much tension in the room, but I wasn't sure if that was being emitted from all of us combined, or myself alone. I mainly thought it was due to my own nervousness, as neither of them displayed and outwards signs of feeling discomfort. As I ate, I noticed a brown and white cat lingering around the table. It pawed at Adalcus's leg occasionally, and the man would lean down to feed the cat small portions of his food. I stared at the cat as it strutted around. It displayed such humanlike features and mannerisms, which was baffling to me.

"That is Evereste," Adalcus told me. "A man cursed as a cat by a witch."

My eyes snapped to him. " _What?_ "

"I know who you are, Lexanna. I know what you do."

"How do you know about me? The supernatural?"

"Again, not an easy question to answer."

"Could you try?" I asked, exasperated. "I'm getting extremely overwhelmed with the fact that you seem to know everything about me."

"Everything?" he questioned and cocked an eyebrow. "I have only told you of my knowledge about your name and practice."

"That's a lot," I told him. "Hardly anybody knows my real name."

He looked over to Nesilee briefly, before looking back to me. "Your name is Lexanna Rose Raen. You were born to Vercillo Raen and Corinne Pennington. You are the youngest of three children, those before are Kimber and Acelyn. Your mother passed away when you were an infant. Your father was often gone throughout your childhood; with your siblings accompanying him as they grew older. After your father's demise, you began a life of hunting the supernatural in order to find the monster responsible for murdering your father so that you can exact revenge. Do I have that correct?"

My breath hitched and I stared at him incredulously. Terrified of who he was, I grabbed a knife from the table and placed it to his throat. "Who the  _fuck_  are you?"

Adalcus calmly closed his eyes. He showed no fear of the knife I was holding to my throat. "That is not an uncomplicated answer to lay upon you. As I said earlier, I am not inclined to divulge such information at this moment."

"You had better start talking," I demanded. "Or I'm going to cut your throat open."

"If that would give you satisfaction, you may do so."

" _Who are you!?_ "

He sighed heavily. "My name is Adalcus Valeur. I am your protector."

"My  _protector?_ "

"I have watched over you since you were very, very young."

"That's not possible. You're barely older than I am."

"It is quite possible," he said, opening his eyes. "For I am a demon."

My eyes went wide and I stepped back from him. "A  _demon?_ "

"As I told you, it is not a simple explanation. I am not the kind of demon you would imagine, or have encountered."

"How the  _hell_  can I possibly believe that?"

"I am, if you will, a double agent. I work for both heaven and hell—primarily heaven. I was charged with protecting you from infancy. I follow you wherever you go. I have always done such. That is how I found you in the warehouse."

"You're a  _demon_. I can't possibly trust you."

"Aren't you listening?" Nesilee snapped. "He's a good guy. He's  _protecting_  you. You really are an ungrateful bitch, aren't you?"

"Nesilee, that is  _enough_ ," Adalcus intervened sternly. "Lexanna, please sit, and I will explain everything to the best of my abilities."

I looked between them both, feeling engulfed with confusion. I almost felt as though I possessed all abilities to vomit. Obediently, I slowly made my way back to my seat and slowly took it. I stared at Adalcus from across the table, awaiting his explanation.

"I was born in the late sixteenth century. When I was twenty-seven, I was murdered by one of my brothers. A demon came to me as I lay dying and offered to make me into a demon as well. I agreed. I possessed my own corpse, so this is indeed what I look like rather than a vessel. I lived as a demon until your birth. For years prior, I questioned the ways of demons. I was not evil, nor did I want to live a life of evil. I was approached by an angel, who enlisted my assistance in retrieving information about hell and Lucifer and the plans of demons for their benefit. I agreed to do so, upon which I became an agent of heaven. I was charged with your protection after the death of your mother. If I agreed, I would one day have the privilege of becoming an angel. So, I have been protecting you if you were an infant. Here I am, fulfilling my duties."

I put my hand to my forehead and swallowed the lump in my throat. It was so much to take in at one time, but I had no choice but to do so. I chose to ask questions. I found myself greatly regretting that decision. "You're a demon," I said slowly, trying to understand. "A demon—but a good demon?"

"In a matter of words, yes."

"You know everything about the things I've done—said?"

"Indeed."

"Do you know where Danielle is?"

"I do."

"Where? Where is she?"

He looked to a closed door. "In one of my spare bedrooms. I rescued her shortly after the phone call you received from her. She was injured, but she is alright."

I let out a short breath of relief. "Can I see her?"

"Soon. For now, she is resting."

I nodded a few times, then placed my head in my hands. "This is too much."

"I will understand if you choose not to trust me. However, I must warn you, I will not stop protecting you regardless."

"I don't know why," I began, "but I feel as though I can trust you. There's just some feeling in my gut, I suppose. So, yes, I'm going to trust you. At least, I'm going to try."

"I am pleased to hear this," he said, giving him a soft smile. "You are welcome to take shelter here as long as need be. I recommend doing so until your wound heals."

"I shouldn't," I frowned. "I should continue looking for the thing that killed my father. That's all I have to do—it's my mission."

"You have no path," he said. "You have yet to pick up a trail on the beast's location. Therefore, I believe your mission can halt until you are well enough for travel."

I frowned unhappily, but nodded compliantly. I was in no condition to be driving around the country looking for a creature when I had no clue of its whereabouts.

"Kimber," I said, looking up to him. "Why did Kimber kidnap Danielle? Why did he shoot me?"

"Your brother is not himself as of late. He has not been for a year and a half."

"What do you mean?"

"He is possessed," Adalcus answered. "By a demon named Cresil."

"Cresil?" I queried. "You know him?"

"I do," he answered. "Cresil is one of my brothers. He is the one who murdered me."

I nodded slowly. "Great."

"He is very dangerous," he said. "The most dangerous of all my brothers."

"How many brothers do you have?"

"Three, and a sister, as well. Deumos and Dantalia share my morality. Cresil and Caym share one another's."

"Do you suppose I'll meet any of them?"

"You have met Cresil," he said. "In a light mood, as you would be dead if he were not feeling generous. I do not know if you will meet Caym. The chances of meeting Deumos and Dantalia are unavoidable if you choose to stay here. They live here with me, as well."

"How many people live here?"

"Many," he said. "Nesilee and myself; Deumos, Dantalia and her boyfriend Arkus; Virendra and Vilayna Dantos; and Evereste. More will come along, I assume."

"That is… A lot of people."

"I like to consider my home a shelter for those in need or in danger. It has become, for many, something of a safe-house. It may be useful to utilize this."

"Maybe," I nodded and took in a sharp breath. My head was spinning with information. "I still don't know if I can trust you."

Adalcus smiled sympathetically. "I understand your skepticism. If I were in your position, I cannot say I would feel different."

I leaned my elbows on the tabletop and placed my head in my hands. I was starting to get a migraine from everything happening. All I wanted was to sleep for the next fifty years.

"Do you have intentions to regroup with the Winchesters?"

I looked up, taken aback. "What?"

"In Connecticut, you were introduced to the Winchesters. Do you have intentions to regroup with them?"

"No," I blinked at him. "Why would I?"

"They would be powerful allies."

"What difference does that make? I don't work with other Hunters."

"It is not wise to remain alone, given the current state of the world."

"Exactly what state is the world in?"

"An unstable one, to say the very least."

I stared at him for a moment, then leaned back against my chair. "So, you're basically saying that you  _want_  me to work with the Winchesters?"

"No," he said plainly. "I am saying I wish for you to join the Winchester brothers. I wish for you become a member of their group."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"You may not  _want_  to. However, you  _should_."

" _Why?_ "

"I have my reasons," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I care not to elaborate."

"You're going to have to give me more than that. I really don't know think Winchesters and I would get along very well. The tall one, maybe, but pretty-boy? I don't think so."

"They are stubborn and often quite infuriating, but they are useful, and they are heavily tied in with the fate of our world. Much that is, and much to come, will fall directly into their palms. They are knowledgeable and skillful Hunters, but with much to learn. The three of you can benefit greatly from one another. On another note, perhaps they will stop being so sickeningly codependent on one another if they have an additional member to assist in holding the weight of the world."

"I don't  _want_  to have the weight of the world on my shoulders, nor do I  _want_  to help others hold it up. I want to complete my mission and then… Move on. I don't care about anything else. I have something to complete, and that's the only reason I'm hunting."

"They would be useful on your mission. They are impeccable trackers."

"Adalcus," I said, frustrated. "I'm not joining them."

"Truthfully, Lexanna," he began. "I am not proposing much of an option."

"I'll be damned if I let  _you_  force me to do  _anything_."

"Be reasonable," he patronized. "Consider my words. I believe there is much in store for the three of you, but together—as one."

I rubbed at my forehead with my fingertips irritably. I wasn't exactly surprised that a  _demon_  felt so entitled to order me around, but it wasn't any less aggravating. "Fine," I grumbled. "I'll consider it. I'm going to bed now."

"Sleep well," Adalcus said softly. "If you worry over your nightmares, there is a bottle of pills at your bedside that will give you a dreamless slumber."

I muttered thanks and disappeared into the bedroom I awoke in. I slipped under the blankets and shut my eyes. Was I going to follow what the demon said and find the Winchesters? I wasn't sure of the answer yet. The last thing I wanted was to group with two whiny brothers, but, as Adalcus said, I wasn't being given much of a choice.

God, kill me now. I was going to join the Winchesters.


	8. Lost in the Shadows

Come morning, Danielle was sitting in the dining room, at the dark oak table. I felt overcome with emotions—relief was rushing into my stomach and pitting itself there. There sat the girl—my best friend—who I was sure had suffered at my brother's hand. Even when Adalcus had told me that she was alive and well and resting in a spare bedroom, I hadn't believe him. Nothing could have convinced me of her existence other than my own eyes; not even the telling of a demon, who seemed to value nothing over utter truthfulness. Despite the proof of his truth before my sight, I was skeptical. I have, never in my life, known a demon to be  _honest_.

Danielle was darker than I had ever known her to be. The bright, witty, cheerfulness I knew her for was not currently present.  _She_  was darker, even, by the bruising in which I could only assume resulted because of my brother. The girl I loved was still there, but buried underneath pain and confusion. I hoped that I could rejuvenate her.

I moved from staring at her from the doorway to tapping on her shoulder. This caused her to flinch in surprise. She swung around, hand fisted; ready to attack any who would mean her harm. I took a step back and raised my hands in retreat. "Watch the fists of fury there, killer," I said with my lips cocked into a playful grin.

She stared at me, almost in disbelief of my presence. "You're here," she muttered to herself. She gazed a moment longer before shoving herself back from the table. She lunged at me and brought me into a tight and warm embrace. "Jesus Christ, Lex, I was so worried about you… Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?"

" _You_  were worried about  _me?_ " I questioned as I pulled back from the embrace. I wrapped my fingers firmly around her arms. "Dani, I was in a panic over you. I didn't know where you were—or what happened to you. Shit, I thought you were  _dead_ , and when you told me that Kimber was responsible for this… I didn't want to believe it. Dammit, I didn't, but I should have."

"If the situation had been reversed, I wouldn't have believed it, either," she said in a quiet voice. "It's not something  _anyone_  pictured from Kimber, but it happened."

"What did he do to you?" I ask softly. "What did my brother do to you?"

"It's not important."

"Of course it's important, Danielle. He's  _my_  brother, and he  _hurt_  you."

"Lexanna Raen, don't you do that."

"What? What am I doing?"

"Blaming yourself," she frowned disapprovingly. "The weight of the entire world is not yours to carry, Lex. You're not responsible for Kimber's actions. You haven't seen the man in  _five_  years."

"More like three days."

"Three days?" she repeated with furrowed eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Three days ago, I was looking for you. I was in Oregon and I got this… feeling that I should look in Malheur County. So, I grabbed the map from my glove compartment and headed there—I needed to station myself somewhere, so I checked into a motel. When the woman at the desk saw the last name on one of my cards, she asked if there was some sort of occasion going on, because a girl—who she thought to be my sister—named Virginia Kelly checked in a week prior. I checked into the room you had been staying in and looked from any possible sign of where you could have gone—there was nothing. I was ready to give up when Kimber called me. He told me to come to this abandoned warehouse. When I got there, he knocked me unconscious. I woke up bound to a chair. He taunted me; mocked me; said he wanted vengeance for Dad. He used you as bait in order to lure me in. Well, it worked—he had me there, and he vowed that he was going to kill me; Dad's death for my life. He shot me."

"He  _shot_  you?" her voice came incredulously. "Your  _brother_  freaking  _shot_  you?"

"Are you really that surprised?"

"Well, yes, a little bit. This is  _Kimber_  we're talking about."

"He's not Kimber anymore, Danielle. He's something—something different. The brother I knew died with my father. Now he's…"

"—he's, what?"

"—a monster."

She gave me a disbelieving stare. She would have never known me to call another human being a monster, especially not one of my siblings. Yet, I did so, and it was nothing far from the truth. Kimber had changed—he had become a monster.

"You're staring at me and it's making me somewhat uncomfortable," I told her.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, averting her eyes. "I never thought you would refer to your brother as a monster. It's not like you."

"It's not exactly far from the truth," I dismissed with a shrug. "Whoever I saw back in that warehouse was not Kimber. I don't know what happened to him, but I know he's not my brother anymore."

"He's always going to be your brother."

I let out a short and bitter laugh. "Brothers don't shoot their sisters."

"There has to be a reasonable explanation," she suggested. "We'll figure it out."

"No, there isn't a reasonable explanation," I disagreed.

"On the contrary, perhaps there is an explanation that you would find to be relatively reasonable," Adalcus said from an archway leading to another hall of bedroom doors. "That explanation is yet foreign to you."

The demon and I both knew the reason for Kimber's actions. Danielle, however, didn't, and now Adalcus was pretending to be cryptic to spare her from the details. It was now my duty to keep this secret from her—to pretend as though I had no clue to the fact that my brother was currently being possessed by a demon. I didn't want to play this little game of his, but what choice did I have, really?

I turned my body towards his and crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't suppose you know what that is?"

"It may be within my knowledge."

"Great," I said with false cheer. "You're going to tell me, aren't you?"

The demon gave me an apologetic smile. "I am afraid not."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course not."

"I know you are aggrieved with my obscurity, but you must understand that I am not authorized to divulge such information. There is a proper time for each thing you are desperate to know."

"I didn't know a demon was so keen on rules."

"I am more than a simple demon, Lexanna. This, I have explained."

"Regardless—" I paused. "—why do you keep calling me by my full name?"

"It is your name, is it not?" he inquired with a tilt of his head.

"Well, yes, but  _everyone_  calls me Lex."

A small smile spread across his face. "I prefer to speak properly. I do not adhere to nicknames."

"I thought I heard Nesilee refer to you as Addy?"

"Indeed you did," he agreed. "Nesilee is my lover. She is the only person I will allow passage with such things."

I stared blankly at him for a moment, then looked to Danielle, who was stifling a laugh behind her hand.

Adalcus glanced between us with his maroon eyes. "Have I said something amusing?"

"No," Danielle choked out and cleared her throat. "Um, no, sir."

"While I do favor properness, you are in no way required to address me as sir, Danielle. Adalcus will do perfectly well."

"Right, yes, of course, s—Adalcus."

"Anyhow," he shifted with a clap of his hands. "When will you be leaving, Lexanna?"

Danielle interfered. "You're leaving? Where are you going?"

"Adalcus has asked—or, more demanded—that I find the Winchesters. You've heard about them, right, Dani?"

"You mean Dean and Sam Winchester?"

"Yes, the brothers."

She blinked, looking between Adalcus and myself. "Why are you doing that?"

I turned a sarcastic smile towards the demon. "If only I knew."

He gave me a pointed look, but remained silent.

"I'll come with you," she informed. "I don't want you to go by yourself."

"You don't need to feel obligated to do that—I can handle this on my own."

"I believe it to be a wise decision," Adalcus added.

I looked to him and crossed my arms over my chest. "You  _believe_  it to be, or you  _know_  it to be?"

The man's response was nothing beyond a tiny smile stretched over his face. This was one of the many moments in the few days I had been here where I had wanted to strangle him. Why couldn't he give a simple and straightforward answer?

"It wasn't an offer, anyway," Danielle cut in. "It was a statement. I  _am_  coming with you, whether you like it or not."

I hid the nervousness of her accompaniment from my expression. Danielle and I hadn't traveled together in a long, long time, and the previous time we had; it had not ended well. I wasn't entirely sure I was ready for this to happen again.

When I looked back to her, she was staring at me, as though waiting for some sign of approval from me. I remained in silence with my eyes focused on her, but my mind was lightyears away; in the darker places of my memories.

"Alright," she stated, which snapped me back into reality. "I'm going to pack what I have here. Be ready by the time I come back out. We should get going as soon as possible if we're going to find them."

After Danielle had turned the corner and entered the bedroom she had been staying in, I turned on Adalcus immediately. "You think this is a good idea?" I asked him with a stronger tone than I had intended. Truth to be told, I was panicked about the situation.

"In fact, I do," he agreed with a nod. "These roads are dangerous, Lexanna, and even more so for a Hunter. I never thought it wise for you to travel alone."

"I know how to take care of myself, and I surely know how to  _handle_  myself."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Adalcus assured. "However, it is no secret that you are easily thrust astray. You are invigorated by nothing aside from pure vengeance, and if you continue your path in such a hateful manner, it will be your downfall."

I gazed at him; mouth agape and taken aback but his sudden ferocity. "It's not only vengeance, Adalcus. It's an eye for an eye."

"Which makes the whole world blind," he argued. "Have you never heard this proverb? The more eyes any of us seek for the ones that have been stolen from us, the quicker the world is blinded and left in darkness. I have total understanding that you cannot be broken from this path. If you could be, I would lead you away from it myself, but you have bestowed this mission upon yourself, and I am aware that you will not rest until it was been fulfilled. Therefore, I do find it sensible for someone to accompany you. Seeing as I cannot venture this journey with you; Danielle will make as a perfect stand-in."

I put my palm to my forehead irritably. "I don't think this is a good idea, Adalcus."

"That is not a decision for you to make," he hissed. "I, solely, have been charged with your protection. I am going to be the one to carve the path."

"You have no idea how gigantic of a mistake this is," I halfway screamed in retort. I turned my back sharply to him and set off in an aggravation-quickened pace to my designated bedroom to pack my belongings.

"I am your watcher, Lexanna," Adalcus called after me. "I have seen every moment of your life. I know your greatest fears."

* * *

There I found myself, on the road, heading back to the one thing I wanted to avoid entirely: the Winchesters.

Why had Adalcus seemed so adamant on this? Why was it so important that I group with the Winchesters? The idea of creating a "clan" with other Hunters had always been off-putting, and that hadn't changed since my demonic "protector" claimed importance from it. Hunters were dangerous—cold; calculated—and hardly trustworthy. While there would be some who would give their life for you, most would so easily as throw you to the ensuing monster if it meant their own longevity. Needless to say, I was bitter about the affair as a whole.

I was mildly relieved from my discomfort, but yet nervous, knowing that Danielle would be accompanying me. It wouldn't be a permanent situation for her, but, at least, I was hopeful that she would stay with us long enough for my tolerance for the two brothers to build. At that point, at least I would be sturdy enough without Danielle as training wheels.

As I drove back to Connecticut, where I intended on picking up a trail from the Winchesters in order to try and estimate their next location; I began to think about to the time I had spent within myself after Kimber had shot me. In the moment, I had begun contemplating a possible connection between Sam Winchester and myself. In fact; I had practically convinced myself of it before the pessimistic part myself decided I was being petty and childish.

The question was: why had I even  _considered_  any possibility of a connection between the two of us? What did we truly have in common? Hunting supernatural beings wasn't exactly a definite, or even viable, reason for me to fall to my knees and proclaim relation.

Even so, I felt drawn to him, and that was the most irritating factor about the entire situation. I was aggravated by the fact that Adalcus practically bullied me into finding the Winchesters, but I was further infuriated by the fact that some minuscule part of me  _needed_  to find the Winchesters. That part of me was  _drawn_  to Dean and Sam, and I had no damn explanation as to why.

If there was any one thing that could send me into frenzy; it was the lack of answers for every possible question I had—which was exactly what I had for the meaning behind this need; and, in addition to the lack of answer for that—Adalcus was the most cryptic person I had ever met in my entire life—there was no answer for any possible question I could have asked him. I was going to lose my mind simply  _thinking_  about my answerless existence.

"Lex," came Danielle's voice from the passenger's seat. "Why do you think Kimber did it?"

"Did what?" I asked.

"Kidnapped me; held you hostage;  _shot_  you."

I frowned at her words. The game came into play again. "I don't know, Dani. If I knew, I don't think I would be driving thousands of miles to find the last two morons I ever wanted to see again."

"What would you be doing, then? If you knew why he had done it?"

"Trying to help him," I replied. "You know Kimber as well as I do—that, whatever the hell it was—it wasn't  _him._  I have never in my life known Kimber to be violent without probable cause, and even if he were bitter about our father's death, he would have  _never_  tried to  _kill_  me out of revenge."

"That's not what you said earlier," Danielle said with a frown. "Anyway, maybe he's changed," she offered with a shrug. "It  _has_  been five years since you've seen each other."

I ignored her first statement. "I really don't think he would have turned into a murderous psychopath within the last five years. Sure, I grew distant from Kimber and Acelyn both as a result of what happened, and sure, maybe they resented me, maybe even still resent me—but I don't think that either of them would suddenly have developed an urge to kill me. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, you know."

I almost scolded myself for repeating what Adalcus had told me earlier.

"It wouldn't even be an eye-for-an-eye situation, anyway," Danielle grumbled bitterly. "It's not  _your_  fault that Vercillo died. You're not the one who tore him apart."

I winced at that statement. "They don't see it that way."

"Do you see it that way?" she asked, turning to look at me.

I gave her a quick glance out of the corner of my eye and sat in silence.

" _You think you're responsible, don't you?_ "

I sighed in exasperation. "It's nearly impossible not to, considering the fact that I  _am_  largely responsible. I could have helped him, or at I least could have tried, but I  _didn't_ , and that lack of doing greatly factored into the undeniable reality that he  _did_  die."

"Oh, what a crime—you were paralyzed with fear when this gigantic, inhuman  _monster_  broke into your house and tore your father into ribbons with its goddamn  _claws!_ " she halfway screamed, waving her arms around angrily. "You know what would have happened if you had tried to go after it, anyway?  _You_  would have  _also_  died."

I shook my head with a heavy sigh. She had always come to my defense on this subject, but it was painful for me to converse about. "I'm going to die, anyway," I told her.

This seemed to stop her in her tracks. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've never told you—anyone—about the entirety of that night," I began, avoiding her eye contact. "Yes, it smiled at me, but it also  _said_  something to me. It said that my 'time' would 'come soon enough' and that we 'would meet again'. I can only assume that means it's going to come and kill me, too. Maybe even Kimber and Acelyn."

"Why the hell didn't you ever tell me that?" she asked, obviously offended. "Beside the point, you're hunting it and you're going to kill it."

"How?" I questioned, looking to her briefly. "Sure, I'm hunting it, but I have no idea where it is—I don't even know  _what_  it is. Even if I were to find it; what then? I don't know how to kill it. The chances are that it's going to tear me to ribbons, too, and that's the harsh truth about the matter."

"Why are you talking like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"From the moment you began to hunt this thing, you have never been this pessimistic about the outcome. When did you become so worn and weary?"

"Oh, I don't know, Danielle, maybe during the past two years since your random disappearance."

She looked ahead, quiet now. "I thought we were passed that."

" _Passed_  that? How the  _hell_  could we ever be  _passed_  it when we've never  _talked_  about it? Jesus Christ, Danielle, I hadn't heard from you from the time that you vanished to the time Kimber had you call me, which was  _last week_."

"Lex—"

"—you left me. I went to sleep in that godforsaken motel room one night, feeling safe, and sure that my best friend was going to have my back through everything; only to find the opposite bed  _empty_  the next morning. You simply picked everything up and disappeared! No warning—no explanation—nothing! You didn't even have the  _decency_  to call me back! I called you every damn day for three months straight, trying to figure out why the  _hell_  my best friend abandoned me. Fuck, did I make it that easy for you to walk right in and out of my life?"

Without noticing it, I had begun to cry. When I finally noticed, I was frustrated with myself. I viciously wiped at the tears on my face and exhaled harshly. The car was in dead silence. I think I had shocked Danielle into a lack of response. The bitterness and confusion and anger and sorrow I had pent up from her disappearance came crashing out at once, and now I began to feel guilty about my explosion. Though I was bitter about what had happened, she didn't deserve coldness from me.

"You're right," she declared as she rubbed her face with her hands. "I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry that I did—believe me, I am."

"Why did you leave?"

"There were a lot of reasons, Lex."

" _Tell_  me those reasons. You owe me, at least, that much."

Danielle sighed. "I left because… I didn't want to hunt. I left because I was afraid of everything. I had never been a Hunter before, and I didn't really want to start. The only reason I went in the first place is because I knew you were hurting and you needed someone to help you. I thought, at that point, you were okay to be by yourself."

"You were wrong," I growled. "I  _wasn't_  okay to be alone. I'm still not okay to be alone. I don't think I ever will be."

"I'm sorry, Lex. I just wanted to have a normal life. I never asked for any of this."

"Do you think I did?" I snapped, turning my head to stare at her. "Do you think I asked for  _any_  of this to happen? Do you think I  _wanted_ to watch my father die? I never wanted to become a Hunter, either, Danielle."

"That's not what I meant."

"Regardless of what you meant, you could have said no when I asked. You could have at least told me that you didn't want to do this, but you didn't. You abandoned me and left me wondering why you wouldn't stay around. I don't know what could have hurt more than that."

"I said I was sorry," she said defensively.

"You did," I agreed, glancing to her. "That doesn't mean it's enough."

"What do you want me to do, Lex? Do you want me to fall to my knees, groveling before you, and beg for your forgiveness?"

"I just want you to prove that you're sorry!" I screamed. I was getting so overwhelmed with everything. The voices started to whisper in my ears; my head began to feel heavy and as though it was full of static.

I could hear Danielle yelling, but it was distant and muted. I was losing lucidity.

When she grasped my right arm roughly, my eyes snapped open. The last thing I saw was a tree.


	9. We Won't Back Down

Undefined blotches of blinding whiteness flashed overhead; one after another. My head was swarmed with dull, disorienting humming. I was on the fringe of consciousness. I felt less than human; almost similar to a ghost bound to the earth, but yet, not quite dead. I was surrounded by distant voices shouting urgent, but indistinct orders. My eyes were open—that was obvious, but all that I gazed upon was obscure and unfocused.

"She's going into shock!" shouted an intense, masculine voice.

Was I the one going into shock? The last thing I could remember seeing was a tree—but what had happened after the shadows had concealed my vision?

"She's seizing—we need to get her to a room!"

In an unanticipated second, the voices changed from quiet murmurs in the distance to thunderous bellows pulsating against my eardrums. It felt as though, at any given moment, my ears would begin to bleed. It was unbearable.

With another flash of a second, all that around me came to a halt. There was no noise—no sight—nothing. For all I knew, I had died but never have I been so lucky.

* * *

Consciousness crawled into my mind again. A glob of saliva slid down my parched and brittle throat as I began to wake. I turned my head ever so slightly, and felt terrible, tender pain throbbing across the entirety of my skull. I cursed under my breath and forced my eyes open. The fluorescent lights above my head burnt at my corneas, causing me to squint. I shielded my eyes with my hand until my pupils dilated, and adjusted to the sudden influx of brightness. When I removed my hand from blocking my view, I discovered that I was in a hospital. I grimaced at the plain, pale walls. If there was anything I hated more than the monster responsible for my father's death, it was _hospitals_.

I glanced around the room, trying to figure out what had happened after I saw the tree. I could at least assume that my car had crashed into it. My eyes widened with realization. What happened to Danielle? Had I killed her?

As I was pulling the blanket off of my body, I noticed a figure from the corner of my eye. I turned my head—a bit too quickly, might I mention—to see Dean Winchester sitting in a chair near the bed; watching me. I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Sammy and I were on our way to investigate a case, and we saw this familiar red Mustang crashed into a tree. Weird, right? Anyway, I wasn't worried about it, because, well, it wasn't my problem, but Sammy—being the sentimental sap he is—demanded I pull over. After seconds of fighting, I finally gave in. Lo, and behold; it was you. We brought you here."

I let out a short laugh and shook my head. "Well, that's ironic."

"Come again?"

"Nothing," I replied with a wave of my hand. "There was another girl in the car, right? She's my friend. Do you know if she's okay?"

"I don't really know anything," he shrugged. "The doctors took her to a separate room. Sam is waiting for her wake up."

"Well, thanks for helping us, but you don't need to stay."

"I was waiting for you to wake up, just to make sure that you weren't dead, or anything. I'll get out of your hair now."

Dean stood up and was headed for the door. I sat up slightly and called for him. He turned back and stared at me expectantly. "You and your brother were heading towards a case," I began. "What case?"

He hung his head and pursed his lips. "Look, no offense, but we work alone. Maybe you're trying to jump in—it's appreciated and all, but it's not necessary. We can handle ourselves."

"I wouldn't have said otherwise," I shot with a glare. "I only wanted to see if you were interested in some assistance, but I can see you're not. Where were you headed, anyway?"

"Milwaukee, Wisconsin," he answered and nodded at me before exiting the room.

I glowered at him and muttered insulting profanities under my breath as I lifted myself from the bed. I grabbed onto the metal perch of my intravenous bag and walked slowly into the hallway and towards the receptionist. She looked up at me, studied my condition, and raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you should be out bed."

"Can you tell me which room Danielle Harlington is in? She's my friend—she was in the accident with me. I want to make sure that she's alright."

"I really don't think you should—"

"—I'm _fine,_ " I snapped. "Please, tell me which room she's in."

The woman eyed me for several seconds until she began looking through the list of patients currently in the hospital. "She's down the hallway to the right, in the fifth room on the left."

I thanked her and headed directly towards Danielle's room faster than I should have. I threw the door open and fell to the ground when I was inside of the room. I heard the sound of Sam quickly rising from his place in the chair as I crawled desperately towards my closest friend. When I reached the bed, I used the rail to pull myself onto it. She was still asleep and looked absolutely horrible. Much of her face was cut and bruised. Guilt stabbed me directly in the stomach at the sight of her. There was no one that could be blamed other than me.

Tears began to well in my eyes as I softly caressed her face. "I'm so sorry," I whispered to her. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Sam's hand gently touched my shoulder. I turned to look up at him and quickly wiped the tears away from my face in embarrassment.

"You don't need to feel ashamed of your tears," he reassured with a gentle tone. "I'm sure this is a lot for you to take in, and you have every reason to cry."

"Is she going to be alright?" I asked weakly.

He nodded twice. "The doctor came to check on her earlier, and he told me that she was going to be perfectly fine. She has a few bruises and scrapes, but other than that, she's fine."

I sighed in relief and looked over to her, still feeling guilty for causing the accident to begin with. I wasn't sure if there was ever going to be a way to make it up to her. "How long have you been in here?"

"Since Dean and I brought you both in," Sam answered. "No harm had really been done to her, so I was allowed to sit with her as they set up the IV and got her situated. She's been asleep the whole time. Dean told me he had to wait a few hours to enter your room. From what I know, your state was a lot worse. You hit your head pretty hard when your car crashed into the tree and the windshield broke, so some of the glass was littered throughout your body. They said you went into shock and seized."

"Wonderful," I noted sarcastically. "Do you know if it's alright that we leave? Once Danielle is awake, that is."

"The doctor said that she would recommend you both stay another night, but they're not demanding it."

I nodded a little bit and look over Danielle before groaning. "Crap. We can't really leave, considering the fact that I probably totaled my car."

"Right," Sam laughed awkwardly. "Well, no worries. Dean and I gathered yours and Danielle's stuff from the trunk of your car and we're planning to take you wherever you both need to go."

"I'm sure Dean is ecstatic about that."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "No, of course not, but he'll find some way to get over it. He's a big boy."

"Damn right I am," said Dean as he entered the room. "By the way, don't worry about getting your car fixed. Sammy and I have that covered."

I raised an eyebrow at his words, taking a moment to glance towards Sam. "You do?"

"A family friend of ours, Bobby, has a car scrapyard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It's a self-service salvage, but we convinced him to fix your Mustang," answered Sam.

"Which didn't come without a hell of a lot of bitching, so I believe some thanks are in order," Dean added pompously.

I scowled at Dean but forced a smile upon my face. "Thank you, Sam," I told him and him only as a passive-aggressive way of retaliating against Dean.

Sam Winchester glanced towards his brother—who was giving me a blank stare—and tried to suppress his laughter. When Dean caught onto this, he slapped his younger brother upside the head. "Bitch," Dean muttered under his breath.

As I thought the comment had been directed at me, I opened my mouth to snap at him, but Sam intervened. "Jerk," he said. It became clear to me that this was their 'thing'.

"Dean told me that you guys are headed to Wisconsin—what's in Wisconsin?"

Before Dean could warn his brother to keep his mouth shut, Sam turned his body in my direction. "We think there might be a case there," he answered. "There have been a lot of robbery-suicides going on. It just seems a little weird, so we're going to check it out."

"Oh," I nodded in response. I glanced towards Dean, who was about to pull his brother into the hallway. "Do you think that you're up for some assistance?"

Sam shrugged off his brother's hands when they grabbed hold of his jacket. "I wouldn't mind the help… what about you, Dean?"

"No," the eldest Winchester brother immediately answered. "Absolutely not—no—we don't need any help, Sammy."

"Well, why not? Lex is a Hunter, too, and she could be of some help."

"Dammit, Sam, I said _no_. Besides, she's all banged up and broken. What help could she be, really? And that other girl, yeah, we don't know her."

"She's a Hunter, too," I interrupted, "my partner, actually."

"Well, where was your handy-dandy partner in Connecticut?" asked Dean.

I scratched my forehead in frustration. "Around," I told him. "She took a brief… sabbatical from hunting, but now we're back together… and willing to help."

Dean looked at me for a long moment before turning back to his brother. "Sammy, no. This is a bad idea."

"Why is this such a bad idea to you, Dean? Is it because they're Hunters, or because they're women—or is it because they're Hunters _and_ women?"

"God, Sam, it's not because they're women! Do you mistake for some sexist monster who thinks that women can't do the job? No, women can do the job perfectly well—we've both seen it! The problem isn't because they're Hunters, either. Maybe some of the reason I'm skeptical is because they're Hunters, sure. Other Hunters can be dangerous, and you _know_ that. The biggest problem I have with this is that she has proven herself to be a danger on her own. I mean, c'mon Sammy, look at the events that have unfolded, huh? Back in Connecticut, we found her unconscious in her room… she's been prescribed _antipsychotics_ , Sam—and she just crashed her freakin' car into a _tree!_ Does any of that _not_ scream 'unreliable' to you?"

Sam folded his arms over his chest and gave his brother a pointed stare. "I'm willing to give them both a chance. You should be, too."

"I can explain everything," I told them. "Being unconscious—the antipsychotics—crashing into a tree… I can explain _all_ of that to you both, but it's not going to come out all at once. I don't want it to come out at all, but you're uneasy about it, and reasonably so. No matter what you say, Dean… Danielle and I are coming with you. We _have_ to, and that… I don't know if I can explain that, but you don't have a choice. We _are_ coming."

"No, you are _not_ coming. We'll take you where you want to go, that's it," argued Dean.

"Fine," I shot back. "I know where we want to go."

"Yeah, where's that?"

"Milwaukee, Wisconsin."

Sam slowly looked over to Dean. "I don't think we have a choice."

Dean Winchester exhaled for a long moment, then turned and exited the room. It seemed that he finally realized that there was no way he was going to get out of this deal. Danielle and I were going to help them with their case—despite how much we _both_ abhorred the very idea.

* * *

After hours of waiting by her bedside, Danielle finally awoke. When I noticed that her eyes had opened, I sat straight and leaned over the side of her bed. "It's nice to see that you're finally awake," I told her in a soft voice.

Her eyes slowly moved towards me, and once they reached my face, she gasped quietly. "Lex, you look horrible," she said to me. I laughed in response, knowing that she wasn't wrong, but I hadn't brought myself to look in the mirror—I hadn't looked in the mirror for years. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"We crashed into a tree," I answered. "Well, _I_ crashed into the tree. You were just a victim to my unreliability."

Danielle furrowed her eyebrows. "What are you talking about? You're completely reliable, Lex. It's not your fault that you crashed the car, and besides, I made you angry… and I know that aggravates your… condition."

"That's no excuse," I insisted with a shake of my head. "I shouldn't even be driving with my _condition_ , and that's my own fault."

"Enough of the blame game," she demanded as she sat up. "I assume we're going somewhere. After all, you've laid my clothes out on the bed."

"We are," I agreed. "Sam and Dean were actually the ones to find us, and brings us here."

Danielle looked over to me slowly. "Are you serious?"

"It's ironic, I know," I laughed quietly. "Since I totaled my car, they've agreed to take us wherever we need to go. They're going to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, so I told them that that's where we're going to go—and that we're helping with the case. Dean tried and tried to fight against it, but I told him that he has no choice. I'm relentless."

"While I'm glad that we're, you know, fulfilling our destinies or whatever, I'm wondering if that's a good idea? Going with them is one thing, but helping them with the case? I'm not so sure about that. Lex, we just go into a car accident."

"The doctors said you're perfectly fine—just a little bruised and cut up."

"I'm not worried about me," said Danielle. "I'm worried about you. When we first came in, I heard the doctors talking about your condition, and you're in no shape to be fighting monsters. You could seriously hurt yourself."

"Look, Danielle, I appreciate your concern, but I'm going to be fine. I've fought monsters in worse condition. Plus, I feel okay. Adalcus said—no, Adalcus _insisted_ that this is what we're supposed to be doing, and this coincidence is just too ironic to look past. Finding them and getting them to agree to let us come along is too easy to pass up. I'm not risking what could be our only chance simply because I'm a little injured."

"Lex, I have to argue against this."

"You can argue all you want," I told her. "Luckily, I'm too stubborn to listen to anybody."

Danielle decided that it would be best if she didn't try to fight me any further. In the end, she knew I would win. I had always been too stubborn for my own good, but I knew it was a quality that she admired about me. If I had to give myself credit for anything—it would be that I refused to quit—that I refused to lose—that I would never back down.

Once Danielle had finished getting dressed, we exited her hospital room to rejoin the Winchester brothers, who had been sitting in the waiting room. We finished checking ourselves out of the hospital and made our way to the parking lot where Dean's black Chevrolet Impala sat, looking as beautiful and regal as ever. The four of us piled into the car—with Dean as the driver, Sam as the passenger, Danielle behind Sam, and myself behind Dean.

As Dean shoved a cassette tape into the player and peeled out of the parking lot, I looked out the window to watch the scenery blur past. Danielle and I had successfully infiltrated Sam and Dean's little 'gang' and I wondered if Adalcus was watching—and whether or not he was proud of me. For some reason, I sensed that he was… for some reason, I was proud of me, too.


	10. Break In

The drive from Kalkaska, Michigan—where Danielle and I had been hospitalized—to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was an average of six hours long. Dean had been driving for one hour, now leaving us in Reed City. However, the sky was turning indigo, and we all knew that we would not be able to finish our journey to Milwaukee until morning. I knew the delay was something Dean would blame me for, as it had been so late in the evening when Danielle and I were able to check out of the hospital.

"Keep an eye out for a motel," ordered Dean from the front seat. "Looks like we're going to have to stop, no thanks to the nuisances in the backseat."

Sam sighed for a long moment and turned his head towards his brother. "Really, Dean? Now you're just being petty."

"Yeah, _Dean_ ," Danielle chimed in. "Now you're just being _petty_."

"Oh, come on now, Danielle," I butted in. "It's not Dean's fault… it's the PMS—just that time of the month again, you know?"

" _Enough_ from the peanut gallery!" Dean snapped; his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

"I don't know if you're paying attention, Dean, but the Reed City Motel is directly on your right, and you're about to drive right past it," Danielle pointed out.

In a sudden movement, Dean jerked the wheel to the right, sending everyone in the car flying leftwards. He slammed on the brakes in a parking spot directly in front of the check-in office, then threw the Impala into the park position. I peeled myself from the door and pushed my long hair from my face. "Jesus Christ, Evel Knievel, take a chill pill!"

Dean whipped around in his seat to give me a hateful stare. "Hey, smartass, keeping making your comments, and I'll pump you full of lead, you understand?"

"Oh, threatening to kill me?" I mocked. "Well, look at you, you big, tough, scary man, you! I'm quaking in my boots."

He pinched the bridge of his nose before flinging the car door open. "Let's go, Sam."

Sam glanced back at us, mouthed an apology, and followed his brother to the receptionist's desk. Danielle and I exited the car and waited by the trunk so that they could grab their things when they returned. I leaned against the frame and watched the brothers as they spoke with the man inside. "This is going to be a nightmare," I said to Danielle. "I don't know why Adalcus insisted that this was necessary."

"Well, there's a reason," Danielle shrugged, "and whatever it is, it _has_ to be something worthwhile, otherwise I don't think he would have demanded this friendly little road trip."

"Yeah, but Danielle, that's the thing… this isn't a road trip," I mentioned. "This is a life sentence. Adalcus said that we needed to become one big happy family—group—whatever. He doesn't want us to go on this _one_ road trip. He wants us to go on _all_ of them."

Danielle was silent for several seconds until she released a heavy sigh. "You're right… this _is_ going to be a nightmare."

"It wouldn't be so horrible if we were only traveling with Sam," I muttered. "Dean, on the other hand? He's a nightmare, himself. The only reason this isn't going to go smoothly is because of _him_."

"I'm sure he'll warm up to us eventually."

"You—maybe. Me—I doubt it."

"Why do you doubt that so much?"

"Dani, as nice as it would be to become some big and happy family, it's not going to happen. If anything, we already _are_ a family, but on the verge of complete decimation. It's as though Dean and I are the parents, but we've been trapped in a loveless marriage for fifty years, and we're tired of it, so we're both considering murder—but it all depends on whoever beats the other to the punch."

"Lex, I have to say—you are probably to most descriptive and imaginative person I have ever met."

"Hey, I'm just pointing out the facts. This little waltz between Dean and I? It's never going to work—we're going to end up killing each other."

Danielle shook her head. "I think you're over-exaggerating."

"Mark my words, if one of us hasn't pulled a gun on the other by the end of the night, it'll be a fucking miracle."

"You'll both get over this lovers' quarrel eventually."

" _Lovers'_ quarrel? Are you serious, right now?"

Danielle held up her hands. "Hey, either you really hate each other, or you're hot for each other. I'm banking on the latter."

"You're disgusting," I told her. "Not mention—insane."

Right as our conversation was coming to a close, Dean and Sam approached us. Dean threw the room key my way. I looked down to it after I caught it in my hand, then raised an eyebrow back up to him. "One room?"

"I wasn't springing to buy you and your girlfriend a separate room," he replied. "Besides, he said that there was only one vacancy."

"Only one vacancy in this empty motel, really? Ironically, too, it happens to be the room _right_ next to the office. That guy is probably some pervert with voyeuristic intentions and thinks that this is some weird sex party he can spy on through the peephole he drilled into the wall. I mean, how does this _not_ scream Norman Bates, to you? Haven't you ever seen _Psycho?_ "

"Will you relax? That man is _not_ Norman Bates. We're sleeping in one room, so deal with it."

I rolled my eyes at him and walked towards the door to unlock it. "When he comes busting into the room in the middle of the night dressed as his mother, don't think I'll be saving your sorry ass."

Once I unlocked the door and entered the room, I eyed the only two beds resting against the wall. I pressed my lips into a thin line before turning to face Dean, who was now lingering in the doorway, waiting for me to get out of his way. "There are only two beds in this room," I pointed out.

"You're an observant one, aren't you?"

"Two beds and four people, Dean. I assume you're not going to sleep with your brother, right?"

" _Hell_ no."

"Uh-huh, my point _exactly_. So, what are the sleeping arrangements going to be, exactly?"

"Do you have to obsess over everything?" Dean asked though it was a rhetorical question. "There was a bar and diner combo down the street. We'll go there, eat, have a few drinks, and figure out the sleeping arrangement later."

"With you, I'll assume 'a few drinks' means drinking the place dry," I said, grabbing my suitcase to find some clothes to change into for the bar.

Dean turned towards me, eyebrows knitted together. "Is that a shot at me?"

"You're an observant one, aren't you?" I said, mocking his words from earlier. "Obviously, it is. You strike me as the alcoholic type."

"I am _not_ an alcoholic."

"You keep telling yourself that, John Bonham."

Dean pointed a warning finger at me. "Don't you insult any member of Led Zeppelin."

"I wasn't insulting John Bonham," I told him. "I was insulting _you_."

As Dean muttered some unintelligible idiocy under his breath, I pulled Danielle into the bathroom with me. "Did Sam tell you that we're going to a bar?"

"Yeah, I was just about to change."

"That's why I pulled you in here."

"Lex, this bathroom is small as hell, why can't we change in the room?"

"There are men everywhere, it's just gross," I told her as I pulled my shirt and jeans off. "Forget about how small the bathroom is, tell me how this outfit looks."

Danielle to a step break to analyze the outfit I had put on. It was nothing too extravagant—a pair of dark jeans, a gray, dressier kind of t-shirt, and a simple black knit sweater to cover my arms. "You look nice," she told me. "Why are you getting all dressed up, though? We're just getting some food."

"This is _not_ how I look dressed up," I informed her. "Besides, maybe there will be some cute guys there that might want to hit on me."

"Whatever you say," Danielle chuckled. "You should check yourself out in the mirror. You might want to add some makeup or something."

I stepped away from the mirror in fear that Danielle may push me in front of it. I hadn't the audacity to force myself to look at my own reflection, and I still didn't have the audacity to allow Danielle to be the one to force me to look. "No," I denied with a shake of my head. "I don't really do makeup. This is good enough for me."

She shrugged as she pulled on a casual, red knee-length dress. "That's up to you. I think you look beautiful no matter what you do with your face. Me, on the other hand? Look at _my_ face. It's full of cuts and bruises."

"I'm still sorry about that," I muttered in shame.

"Lex, it's fine," Danielle reassured. "I just wish they would magically heal, or something."

"I believe I can manage that," said a voice to our right.

Instinctively, Danielle and I grabbed onto each other as we screamed at the top of our lungs. We backed ourselves against the bathroom door before seeing Adalcus standing near the shower, his eyes flicking between us in confusion.

I forced a breath of air out through my nostrils before letting go of Danielle. "Jesus Christ, Adalcus. Don't do that!"

"I was not aware that my appearance would create such catastrophe," Adalcus said. "I give you both my humblest apologies."

Before I could respond, we heard pounding on the bathroom door. "Danielle; Lex!" Dean yelled through the wood. "What happened, are you two okay!?"

Danielle held the door shut and locked it before Dean could pry it open. She shot a glare at Adalcus before turning towards it. "We're fine in here!" she called back. "I… fell, that's all!"

"That's the best excuse you could come up with?" I asked her with a raised eyebrow.

"It was better than saying we saw a mouse, or a spider, or something, right?"

I shook my head before looking to Adalcus. "You need to go before Sam or Dean, or Sam _and_ Dean figure out you're in here. I don't think they'll be very understanding."

"Sam can be convinced," Adalcus determined. "Dean, however, may pose a problem."

"Are you listening to me? I said you need to go!"

"I thought Danielle was in need of my assistance."

I looked back to her. "What are you talking about?"

"With her appearance," Adalcus replied. He reached out and touched Danielle's arm, and when I looked at her face, I saw that her cuts and bruises had disappeared. He then touched my arm.

"Well, fantastic, now you've done your duty—go!"

"Remind me to train your temperament when we meet again," Adalcus told me before disappearing.

"He does _not_ know how to listen," I muttered. "'Train my temperament.' Like I'm Fido, and I'll just sit on command when a biscuit is waved in front of me."

"Well, you are pretty testy," Danielle mentioned.

I stared at her for a long moment. "Shut up. How are we going to explain this to Sam and Dean?"

"I'm not the only one who has explaining to do," she said. "Your face is fixed now, too."

"Which still leaves me answerless about my previous point—what are we going to tell them?"

"We'll tell them we covered it with makeup," Danielle offered. "It's not like they'll think twice about it."

"Fine," I finally agreed. We exited the bathroom and packed our discarded clothes back into our suitcases. Once Dean had walked over and asked if we were ready to leave, we walked down the street to the nearby diner and bar that he had spotted earlier. After we had settled at a table, Sam and Danielle went to the bar to order our food.

I sat in my place awkwardly as Dean stared me down. "What did you do to your face?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your face," Dean repeated, using his finger to circle around my head. "It's all clear—no cuts or anything."

"Makeup," I replied, crossing my left leg over the right.

"Makeup, really? It's almost like magic, or something."

"Makeup _is_ magic."

Dean nodded in response. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he cleared his throat. "So, you said you would explain everything that has been happening. Why not start now? Tell me why you're on antipsychotics."

"I did say that I would explain," I agreed, turning my eyes to him, "but I also said that it would come out in time. I don't think we're at such a personal level of trust where I can just blurt out my entire life story in one sitting."

"I didn't ask about your life story," he declared. "I asked about the pills."

"That's the thing, Dean… to tell you about my pills would be to tell you about my life. The reason I have antipsychotics is directly related to my life story, which I am not in a place to tell you quite yet."

"Look, sister—I didn't have to let you join our little crusade in Milwaukee. I could have just dropped you off at the nearest bus station, but I didn't. So, you had better start coughing up some answers, or that's exactly what I'll do."

I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully. "Does this little intimidation game work with most people?" I asked him as I leaned forward. "Dean, you don't intimidate me, and you sure as hell don't _scare_ me. You might want to try asking me a question like a decent human being—maybe then you'd receive some answers… but until you drop this tough-guy façade you're giving me… I'm not going to tell you a damn thing. You can't fight fire with fire."

"Honey, you haven't even seen the fire yet."

"Oh, and I just can't _bear_ to push you that far," I replied patronizingly.

"Alright, fine, you want a gentleman? I'll give you a gentleman—may I please know why you're a lunatic?"

I leaned back against the chair with my arms crossed over my chest, staring at him with a blank expression, and silence.

Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Lex, can you please tell me why you're prescribed antipsychotic medicine?"

"Much better," I told him sarcastically, "but, no."

He smacked the table in frustration and closed his eyes. "You're beginning to get on my last nerve."

"Well, that's unfortunate… for you."

Dean ripped himself away from the chair, took his dinner from Sam's hand as he was returning with it, and began to eat it at the bar. I watched him for a moment before smiling to Sam and Danielle. "Thank you for bringing the food over."

"You're welcome," Sam said as he sat with us. "Hey, Lex… I know Dean can be extremely frustrating, but try to give him a chance, okay? He's rough around the edges, but he's a great person underneath that hard-ass exterior. We've been through a lot, and it puts him on edge. He's been on edge since he was four-years-old."

"That's an early age to be on edge about anything."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a nod. "Well, he saw something pretty bad happen."

"May I ask what?"

Sam sat in silence, seeming to be looking for the appropriate response. "To put it simply, he saw our mom die."

I looked over to Dean and stared at his back. Now I had guilt ripping at my stomach for being so rude to him—for being so uncooperative. Dean and I now had something in common—something deeper than similar interests in cars, music, and films. We had both witnessed our parents' death, and that was something that bonded us at a deeply emotional level.

"I think I'll go try and apologize for being so ornery," I told Danielle and Sam. I gathered my plate, went to the bar, and sat at his side. When he noticed me, he groaned.

"Just leave me alone."

"I wanted to apologize."

"Why do I doubt that?"

I chuckled. "If I had come over five minutes earlier and said those same words, I would be doubtful of myself, but I'm being serious. I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass. That's just how I am. If anything, it's a defense mechanism."

"Defense mechanism against what?"

At that moment, my inner demons came out the play. I wrestled with myself for several long minutes. I wanted, with all my might, to avoid the question—to poke irritation at Dean, but I knew that I needed to start being honest with _someone_. "People," I finally responded. "It's my defense mechanism against people getting too close."

"Why are you so afraid that?" Dean asked. "Do you have deep dark secrets?"

"Doesn't every Hunter?"

"You got me there." When I responded with a small smile, Dean tilted his head at me. "I think that's the first time I've seen you smile. Don't get me wrong, it's nice."

"Dean Winchester, are you complimenting me? Is that a compliment I hear?"

I watched as Dean tried to refrain from smiling. "Don't get used to it."

I nodded. "So, is that what you want?"

He looked over. "What?"

"To break in," I began. "Is that what you want—to break into me? To my walls?"

"If you'll let me."

I thought for a moment. "The doctors say that I have schizophrenia," I told him. "That's why I'm prescribed Zyprexa. If I'm being honest, it doesn't work. There have been a lot of times since I was diagnosed where I've wondered if I really am schizophrenic, but every time I look into it, I find more reasons why I _am_."

"Doesn't that mean you were always like that?" Dean asked, trying to be as sensitive to the issue as possible, but, admittedly, failing.

"That's what the psychiatrist said," I nodded. "He told me that I would have had schizophrenia from childhood, but the condition was aggravated after I went through a stressful and traumatic experience."

"So, that's when the symptoms started?"

"Right."

"What happened?"

I took a deep breath, thinking back to the moment that monster tore my father's body to ribbons. My chest began to tighten and tears threatened to fall over my eyelids. "I witnessed my father's death," I answered in a quiet voice. "I was eighteen."

Dean reached out and touched a hand to my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he told me gently. "Seeing your parent die isn't something you move past. It's always there, floating around in your head. When I was four, I saw my mom die."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dean."

"I'm sorry for yours, Lex."

As I sat in that bar talking with Dean Winchester about some of my darkest demons, I began to realize that maybe—just maybe—Dean and I could one day be friends. I realized that maybe—just maybe—Adalcus had been right about this road being part of my destiny. I seemed to have more in common with the Winchester brothers than I could have ever imagined before. As I sat there, vulnerable to another person, I realized something… I realized that Dean had done something that no one had been able to do for a long time— _break in_.


	11. Stripped

When a beam of early morning sunlight fell upon my face, I awoke with bitter sobriety. I couldn't remember feeling so awful since the death of my father. The sunlight burned at my corneas, and caused my head to pound viciously. I sat up, slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I did. I couldn't remember the last time I had ever drunk that intensely—if I ever had before. Of course, it wasn't my first time touching a drop of alcohol, but it surely was the first time I had drank an entire bar dry. I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes, and then noticed that I was back in the motel room that I had sprung for so that Danielle and I weren't forced to sleep with the brothers. Across the room, Danielle looked peaceful as she slept. She was the physical opposite of me; serene, clear-minded, and a perfect picture of health. I couldn't remember how I had gotten back here. Did Dean escort me? Did I walk myself?

It took all the strength I possessed to pull myself away from the mattress. Every single movement I made were both lethargic and agonizing. My bones ached; my brain convulsed. I took a long shower in hopes that it would diminish my hangover, even slightly—but it didn't. Was there anything I could take to remedy this awful feeling? I tried to remember what my brother would do when he spent a night binging, but I couldn't. To me, the most rational thing to do was to take an aspirin, and drink water for the rest of the day.

I moved to Danielle's bed, shaking her shoulder gently in order to wake her. After a moment of my persistence, her eyes opened slowly, and they studied my face. "Jesus Christ," she began as she pulled herself to sit up. Her movement was so quick that even watching made my temples writhe. "You look like hell."

"I _feel_ like hell," I told her, downing the glass of water that was in my hand. "You didn't get drunk last night?"

"Well… no," Danielle replied with a frown. "You know how I feel about drinking. Sam and I talked for a while, and then we just came back to the motel to get some sleep. When did you and Dean even get back?"

"You'll know as soon as I do," I said with a shrug.

Danielle shook her head. "You need to be more careful. Who knows what happened between you two."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm pretty sure that, even drunk, Dean has a sense of what consent means. I doubt he would've ever agreed, even if I were agreeing. He may have a reputation for promiscuity, but I'm sure he's the kind who'd rather sleep with a sober girl than one who is completely blasted."

"You have too much faith in people."

I scoffed. "I'm sorry, have you _met_ me? I have absolutely no faith in people, Dani. You should know that as well as anyone. I may not be happy about this situation, and I may not like the Winchesters, but I don't think they're rapists, either."

Danielle held up her hands. "Fair enough."

"Let's go see if they're awake."

"Oh, they are," Danielle told me. "Sam knocked on the door about an hour ago asking if we wanted to get breakfast. I didn't want to wake you. They said they'd just wait at the diner across the street for us."

I grimaced at nausea aising in my stomach. "Food sounds disgusting."

"Too bad," Danielle laughed. She changed quickly and grabbed my wrist, dragging me out of the room. "Let's go, alchie."

"Is that some sort of New Age-y slang for 'alcoholic?'"

"Something like that."

We entered the diner, noticing Sam and Dean sitting at a booth in the corner. Dean was shoving eggs into his mouth, which made me want to vomit. I couldn't understand how the hell he was able to eat after the intense amount of drinking that we did last night. Danielle, once again, dragged me along. When we got to the booth, she sat down next to Sam; leaving me trapped with Dean. I sat down slowly, frowning at the smell of the greasy food. I wanted to hurl on their plates. When I looked to Dean, he was staring at me. "What?"

"You look like crap," he told me.

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged. "I mean, if it's a sheep; call it a sheep."

I glowered at him. "Hey, how about your shut your mouth before the sheep fries _you_ into mutton?"

"Someone's crabby today," he muttered, continuing to eat his breakfast contently.

Sam glanced between us before clearing his throat. "Okay, so, as I was saying… this town has become somewhat famous for its robbery-suicides. Just the other night, an employee at a local jewelry store cleaned out all of the merchandise, and was found dead via suicide in her bathtub this morning."

"That's weird," Danielle said, with Sam nodding in agreement.

"Why's that weird?" Dean asked, chewing on his bacon.

I took a breath. "Why rob your employers only to off yourself the same night?"

Sam nodded. "Exactly. I think it's worth looking into, anyway. We can at least go to rule out whether or this is actually our kind of thing."

Dean nodded a few times. "Yeah, okay. Let's go get all suited up and check it out."

Soon enough, we were on our way to the jewelry shop. It took a lot of fighting between all three of them in order to get me to agree to go—specifically because of the outfit I would be forced to wear. Even though I was technically a 'Hunter' now, I had never been the kind of Hunter to disguise myself as some agent of law the and question people. I had only ever been focused on finding my father, and I would have preferred to keep that focus on track.

When we arrived out of the jewelry store and went in to question the employees, I kept fidgeting with the jacket I was wearing. Danielle glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. "Jesus, Lex, will you chill?"

"Look, I never wanted to play dress-up. The three of you forced me into this godawful pantsuit. I'm not a monkey used for testing, okay? I am a human being, and this is stupid."

"Just act natural."

"Natural?" I mocked. "What's natural? I'm not an FBI agent, Danielle!"

She smacked my hand and smiled at a man as he approached. "Are you two also part of the FBI?" he asked.

Danielle flashed him a polite smile and held up her forged identification card. She pinched my thigh, and I held up mine as well. "That's right," she said to him. "I know this situation has been handled by your local police department, but we're here just following up. Can you tell us what you remember from the night you were robbed?"

"It wasn't a simple robbery," the man frowned. "A long-time time employee of ours was the one to do this. Her name was Helena, and it was… so odd. Helena was part of the family; you know? We were all one big family. A lot of us still don't understand what happened, or why it happened."

Danielle nodded. "I understand. Were there any casualties that night?"

The man furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't you read my statement?"

"Of course I did. I'm just confirming the fact."

With a sigh, the man continued. "Well, she shot Edgar… he was our night watchman. I guess he caught her raiding the cases, but she took his gun and shot him in the face. I had to listen to him die… he had called my home. I still can't believe that any of this has happened."

"I'm sorry for what you all have been through," Danielle told him, offering a sympathetic smile. "Do you have any idea of why Helena would do this?"

"None whatsoever," he said with a sigh. "Why steal all of the jewelry? She didn't do anything with it. She went home and she… she committed suicide. She dropped a toaster into her bathwater. Why would you steal millions of dollars' worth of jewelry from your friends… your family… just to go home and die?"

I looked to Danielle, who was nodding to the man. "That is a fair point," she replied to him. "Well, thank you for your time, sir. We will be sure to keep you updated on the investigation as more comes to light."

We met up with Sam and Dean, comparing the information we received. Dean, however, was going on and on about some girl named 'Franny'. Sam and Danielle both looked irritated with him. "Dean, will you focus?" Sam asked with a shake of his head. "I swear; I can't take you anywhere."

"You're such a Debbie Downer, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes and redirected his attention to Danielle and I. "What did the manager tell you two?"

Danielle looked to him. "Well, he confirmed that Helena shot the security guard, and that she ended up killing herself when she returned home. How about you?"

Sam sighed. "About the same."

"Do you think this is anything besides a human who snapped?" I asked, looking between them.

"It's still worth looking into," Sam replied. "Besides, I think I might have found another place to check out. Same M.O., and everything."

"Sounds good," Dean butted in with a nod. "Where are we going?"

"Well, about a month ago, a bank was hit with, as I said, the same M.O. as here."

"Uh huh," Dean responded. "Name of the bank?"

"The Milwaukee National Trust," Sam told him, brushing his falling hair from his face. "There was a guard on duty when it was robbed—Ronald Reznick."

"Lemme guess, he was ganked?"

Sam shook his head. "That's what's surprising. He wasn't killed. He was knocked out, but he survived. The better news is that I have his address."

Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, grinning at him from ear-to-ear. "I knew you'd be useful for something, geek boy."

Sam glowered at Dean, making it quite apparent that this wasn't the first—nor would it be the last—time that his brother referred to him as 'geek boy'. After a moment, he shook his head dismissively. "Well, we should probably head out there as soon as possible. We need to figure out what is going before anyone else gets hurt."

Dean nodded, waving his hand; signaling for us to follow as he headed back to the Impala. We huddled inside of the car, and Dean began to drive towards Ronald Reznick's address. "Do you really think this is something supernatural, Sammy?"

"I don't know, but I'm not going to abandon this place until I know for certain."

"I swear, you're obsessed with saving the world, little brother."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "Aren't you?"

"Yes and no," Dean replied. "At the moment, I'm more worried about finding the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Of course, I'm down to save people here and there along the way, but the demon is our main goal. That son of a bitch has to pay for what he's done to our family."

"Have you even processed through Dad's death yet?"

The muscles in Dean's jaw tightened. "We're not going to talk about that, Sammy."

"Oh, Dean, c'mon. You can't avoid the subject forever. Look, I miss him, too, but you really need to talk about it. That's really the only way to understand your grief, and then try to work through it."

"Enough, Dr. Phil!" Dean snapped. "I said that we're not talking about Dad. Do you understand, Sam? I don't want to talk about it."

Danielle looked to him, then went back to listening to Sam and Dean's conversation. After a moment, she shifted her body towards me. "Sam has a point," she said quietly. "You should talk about it."

I shook my head. "There's nothing to talk about, Danielle."

She shook her head, clearly disappointed in the answer I knew that she had expected to begin with. "Of course there is. There's always something to talk about, especially when a parent dies. In your case, there's even more to be talked about. I know that it was, what, five years ago? But that doesn't mean you need to pretend like it never happened."

Growing frustrated with her, I rubbed at my temples. "I'm not pretending like nothing happened, Danielle. I acknowledge what happened every single day of my life. Why do you think I'm trying to find the monster that did it? I want to kill it. I wouldn't be able to do that if I were pretending as though he had never died, now could I?"

"Okay, point taken. Regardless, though, Lex… I know how traumatic it was for you, and that's exactly why you should talk about it."

"You have _no_ idea how traumatic it was," I replied darkly, turning my head to glare at her. "You weren't there, and you've never lost a parent like that."

Hurt split across Danielle's expression. "I lost my parents, too, Lex. You know that."

I nodded. "Yeah, I do, but you weren't there to witness them dying. You were at a party with that idiot Michael Westell."

"That's _not_ fair."

"It is fair! You were out getting laid when your parents died. I was at home. I was sitting on the couch with my father when that thing barged into the living room. I was there when it dug its talons into his belly. I saw when his guts poured onto the white carpet. _I_ was _there_ when he reached out to me and asked me for help. I was there when I did nothing and watched him die."

Danielle shifted away from me and looked out the window. She was angry with me now. Frankly, I was angry with me, too. I should have never brought up Michael Westell, and I should have never held her activity that night over her head. I suppose we do stupid things when we're angry. "You can be such an asshole sometimes."

I turned away slowly, watching the blurs of scenery rush by. "I know."

* * *

Sam Winchester knocked on the front door of Ronald Reznick's home several times. "Excuse me, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, please open up!" He knocked several more times; harder and louder. "Ronald Reznick!"

After minutes of knocking and calling, an overweight man with shoulder-length hair approached the door. He opened it, but left the glass porch door closed and locked. "Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want?"

Sam flashed Ronald a smile. "Good evening, Mr. Reznick. We're with the FBI. We've come to ask you a few questions."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, then shook his head briefly. "I already gave my statement to the police."

"That's right," Sam nodded. "We're just following up with that statement."

"So… you've come to hear what I have to say?" Ronald asked, shifting his weight skeptically. "Nobody believed me before."

"Well, we're not like everybody. We handle sensitive and unusual cases. So, please, if you would let us in; we can go over your statement."

"Let me see your IDs!"

The four of us flashed our forged badges, which prompted Ronald to allow us into his home. We followed him back into a room with several computers, where he turned back to us. "Well, firstly, let me tell you this—Juan Morales; he never robbed the bank."

"How is that?" Danielle asked, tilting her head at him.

Ronald held up his index finger before fumbling with a tape, pushing it into his VCR. "Whoever—or whatever—I let into the bank that night; it wasn't Juan. See, it looked exactly like him, but it wasn't him. I had a feeling from the moment I first saw him that something was off, but I obviously wasn't about to accuse him of being a fraud." Ronald laughed awkwardly before pressing his lips together when none of us laughed. "Uh… anyway, I don't even think it was human."

"What do you think it was?" Dean asked him.

"Thank you for asking!" Ronald exclaimed, excited to be getting some recognition. He grabbed a magazine and held it up. "Man-droid," he informed us matter-of-factly. "The Chinese have been working on them for years. I guess they finally implemented them, huh? Here, I'll prove it." The man turned and play the tape, which was surveillance footage from the night that Juan Morales had supposedly robbed the bank. "Look, look!" he demanded, nearly jumping up and down. "There!" He paused the tape, revealing Juan Morales' eyes to be white as he had turned his head towards the camera. "He even has the laser eyes! Last time I knew; Juan didn't have laser eyes."

Dean nodded slowly, covering his mouth with his hand so that he could chuckle subtly. Sam pursed his lips before standing up. "Mr. Reznick," he began. "Listen to me very closely, okay?"

Ronald nodded his head slowly.

"There is no such thing as man-droid," Sam told him, Ronald's expression falling quickly. "That man is Juan Morales. He robbed the bank, and those 'laser eyes' are nothing but a camera flare. Do you understand me?"

The man's face grew as red as a tomato. "No!" he burst out. "No, that is not Juan Morales! Juan Morales was a good man who would have never robbed that bank! He loved those people—he loved us! And he surely wouldn't have gone home and _killed_ himself afterward!"

I stepped forward, wanting to try my hand at roleplaying. "Mr. Reznick, we understand that you are very upset. You do not want to believe that your friend could do such a heinous thing, but unfortunately, that is what happened. Sometimes people snap, and that is nobody's fault. I believe you're trying to rationalize something you don't understand into something too farfetched to be believable. Sure, you believe it, but you're hurt and confused. We're sorry to have to bear the bad news to you while you're in such a fragile state, but my colleague is right. Juan Morales robbed that bank, and those are not laser eyes."

Ronald Reznick's face flushed an unimaginable shade of red as anger rushed through him. He threw a pointed finger towards the door. "You get the hell out of my house!"

As Danielle, Sam, and Dean began to shuffle out of the house, I flashed Ronald one last quick smile. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Reznick."

Once we exited the house and went back to the Impala, Dean began to drive back to our motel. A large portion of the ride was held in awkward silence before Dean began to shake his head. "You two were harsh with the poor guy."

Sam looked towards his elder brother. "Dean, man-droids don't exist."

"Well, yeah Sam, I know that. You didn't have to be such a douche, though. Neither did you, Lex."

I shrugged as I stared out the window. "He's a civilian. He doesn't need to get himself involved in something that he knows nothing about."

"Doesn't mean he won't," Dean replied. "Oh—what was with that psychoanalyzing moment going on there? You sounded like you were a therapist, or something."

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Back in Connecticut—you saw my pills, did you not?"

"Well, yeah."

"You don't just find antipsychotic prescription drugs on a street corner, Dean. Having those pills means that I've been to see a psychiatrist, does it not?"

Dean turned his eyes back to the road. "I'd still like to know why you're even prescribed antipsychotics."

Sam jerked his attention to his brother. " _Dean_."

"What? It's a valid question, Sammy. I'd like to know if we're traveling with Norman Bates or not."

"It's still none of your business," I hissed. "I'm not Norman Bates, or Patrick Bateman, or any other psychotic character from films that you could possibly compare me to. I'm an average person who has some issues, okay? Is that enough for you?"

"No, actually, it's not. You could be a whack job."

"So could you, but you don't hear me badgering you and accusing you of being a psychopath."

"I'm going to keep questioning you about those pills until you tell me."

Danielle kicked the back of Dean's seat. "Will you give it a rest? I've known Lex my whole life, and she is _not_ psychotic. She went through a traumatic experience, and that doesn't just go away. So, shut your mouth, and stop being a jackass."

Sam bit down on his lip to avoid laughing. Though, it couldn't be contained for long. He began chuckling after so long, shaking his head. "Roasted on a spit."

* * *

Back at the motel, the four of us gathered in Sam and Dean's room in order gather as much information as possible before setting on our journey to the bank for on-hand investigation. I sat across from Danielle at the table in the room, looking through newspaper articles about the town. After an hour or so of reading, I set the newspapers aside. "If I have to read any more of that tiny print, I'm going to rip my eyeballs out of their sockets."

Danielle grimaced. "God, Lex, don't be so gross."

I leaned back against the chair, letting out a heavy sigh. "What is the plan for tomorrow, anyway? I don't think we can continue walking around acting like we're a team of _four_ FBI agents. It's unrealistic, and someone is going to see straight through it eventually."

"It's not like there's much else to do," Danielle countered. "We need to be there, too. What disguise could we possibly use besides that?"

I paused and narrowed my eyes thoughtfully. I leaned forward and began to shuffle through the papers again, finding the most recent one. I turned the print in her direction and pointed to a small column. "The City Bank of Milwaukee—our next suspected target—is hiring," I said as a small smirk spread across my face. "Instead of dressing up like FBI, or whatever, you and I can pretend to be prospective employees. We're there for an interview. We're there—we see everything… but we're invisible. Nothing suspect."

Danielle took a moment to think about my words before smiling brightly. "Shit!" she exclaimed. "Lexanna Raen—you are a genius!"

I flipped my hair jokingly. "Why thank you."

Sam turned away from his laptop, directing the front of his body towards us. "What did you say?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "That Danielle and I could dress up like interviewees?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not that—and not you. Danielle, what did you say?"

Danielle blinked at Sam. "That she was a genius?"

"No," Sam said again. "Raen… is that your last name?"

"Yeah, it is. Lexanna Raen—that's me. Why?"

"Are you, by any chance, related to Vercillo Raen?"

It felt as though a knife was plunged into my stomach. "He was my father. He died… how did you know his name?"

Suddenly, Dean turned. "Your dad was _Vercillo Raen_?"

"Once again, yes. How the hell do you two even know that?"

Sam glanced to his brother. "Well, Dean and I met him before. He knew our father pretty well, actually."

I started to feel dizzy. "What? No—that's… how is that even possible?"

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well, Vercillo was a Hunter. He was a damn good one, too. A lot of people held him in higher regard than our dad, actually. Good guy, too. From what I remember."

I swiftly pushed away from my chair—fury rushing through my veins. "No," I said forcefully. "No, my father was _not_ a Hunter. That's not possible. I would have known that!"

Dean held his hands up. "Well, hey, all I'm saying is what I know. Vercillo Raen was a Hunter."

The world began shrinking rapidly. The walls were closing in on me, willing to crush me at any given moment. My heart began to palpitate, and it became hard to breathe. I pressed a hand to the side of my head, trying to ignore the sudden influx of screaming voices flooding into my mind. I felt as though I were drowning—sinking deeper and deeper into a bottomless sea of darkness. I could see Danielle, Sam, and Dean congregated around me with concern etched into their expressions. They were speaking, but I could not hear. Sam reached out for me, but I could not feel. I began to feel so small—so nonexistent. The abyss, unforgiving and brutal, started to consume me. There was no return.

* * *

I opened my eyes, setting my eyes on the first thing I saw—which was the ceiling. In that moment, I had forgotten where I was—who I was. I shifted my gaze around, noticing that I was still in Sam and Dean's motel room. Danielle, however, was nowhere to be found. My eyes fell upon Dean, who was sitting near the bed, in a chair. I took a few short breaths, swallowing dryness into my throat. "What's going on?"

Dean jerked his attention to me. He was dressed in a navy jumpsuit. "You passed out," he answered. "Last night. It's about midday now."

"Why?" I asked, feeling confused.

"Well, I told you that your dad was a Hunter."

I nodded slowly. "Right," I said, though absently. "Right," I said again, beginning to understand now. I sat up on the bed, taking a breath. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Dean looked down to himself. "Oh. Sammy and I are disguising ourselves as workers for the bank's security system. Figured it was a little more inconspicuous than FBI."

"Shit—I was out that long? We need to go."

Dean held a hand up. "Not so fast, sister. We need to talk."

I shook my head. "About what? There are more important things to worry about."

"The fact that you wig out every three seconds."

"I do not 'wig out' every three seconds."

"Okay, fair," Dean nodded. "However, this thing—whatever it is—seems to happen a lot."

"We don't have time for this, Dean."

"Oh, no, I think we do. I get that you're all locked and safe, but this isn't normal, and it's about time we figured out what the hell is going on with you. You're like a bomb; waiting to explode at any moment."

I glowered at him. " _Thanks_."

"I'm not trying to be a douche," Dean said, holding his hands up. "I'm just worried."

I pulled myself away from the bed and crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm prescribed an antipsychotic, Dean. Put the pieces together."

"So, what? You're psychotic?"

"It's not that simple. When I was twenty, I went to see a psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with schizophrenia. Naturally, schizophrenia requires a prescription."

"Am I supposed to feel all comfy and cozy after hearing that?"

"Jesus, Dean, I'm not crazy. It's a mental illness—the same as depression, or alcoholism. Only, it's a little more complex. I'm sorry that it's gotten your panties in a twist, but it's a fact, so accept it. You're going to have to deal with it—and me—one way or another."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up. "We can talk about this later, Dean. Or never. Like I said, we have more important things to worry about. Now, I'm going to go back to my room and get dressed so we can go. I'm sorry that you feel uncomfortable with me."

* * *

Once we arrived at the City Bank of Milwaukee, Dean parked the Impala in a nearby parking garage, just in case we needed to make a quick escape without our covers being completely exposed. We stood several meters away from the bank, huddled together in a circle.

"Here's the plan," Sam began, looking between the three of us. "Dean and I are going to go in first. We'll need access to the security monitors as soon as possible. Danielle and Lex, I think you two should stay behind for about thirty minutes. We don't want to go in too close together. People probably wouldn't notice, but given that they possibly could; it's better to be safe. Everybody got it?"

Danielle raised her hand. "What the hell are Lex and I supposed to do for half an hour while you two are cozied on up to the monitors? Are we just supposed to stand here?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Go get something to eat, or talk about climate change. I don't know. You'll figure it out. We're gonna go in now. Thirty minutes, right?"

Danielle rolled her eyes and waved her hand at them dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Thirty minutes."

Sam and Dean moved away from us and towards the bank. I moved to sit on the curb, carding a hand through my hair. Danielle took a spot next to me, and cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So," she began, "what should we do?"

"It doesn't matter to me."

With a sigh, she turned her head towards me. "I think we should talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Our issues. There seems to be a lot of them."

I snorted. "If you want to delve into all of the issues we have; I think we're going to need more than thirty minutes, Danielle."

"Okay, so half an hour turns into one hour. What difference does it make?"

I looked to her. "Well, everybody could be dead in an hour."

Danielle shook her head. "I think Sam and Dean are a little more capable than that, Lex."

I looked away from her. "I can't really say that I'm in the heart-to-heart kind of mood right now, Dani."

"That's always the best time to have one," she rebutted, nudging me with her elbow. "What's bothering you?"

"Dean is bothering me," I admitted. "He asked me, again, about the pills. He wasn't going to let it go, so I told him the truth."

"And?"

" _And_ he pretty much thinks I'm a complete psycho now."

Danielle frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"He called me crazy, Danielle. I think that's enough evidence to assume that he's uncomfortable being around me, and thinks that I'm some sort of mental nut job who's going to snap and go on a killing spree."

Danielle's expression split into anger. "Oh, I could kill him. I'm going to kick his ass."

I chuckled, and shook my head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Dani, but I don't think that's necessary. I understand why he's uncomfortable. Hell, I'm uncomfortable."

"That doesn't give him the right to be a judgmental asshole, Lex. You're a human being with feelings, and you deserve to be treated as such. Diagnosis or not, you're still a person."

I looked to her, studying her irate expression before closing my eyes. "I don't really care about how he perceives me."

Danielle scoffed. "Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"Lex, if you didn't care about his perception of you; this wouldn't bother you so much. However, it does. That says something."

"Are you insinuating that I have the hots for Dean?"

"No!" she laughed. "No, Lex. You don't have to be romantically interested in someone in order to care about how the think and feel about you."

"No? What do you have to be, then?"

Danielle turned her head towards me, offering a soft smile. "Human."

I shook my head, denying her words silently. From the second my father had died, I stopped caring about anything—about everything. Nothing mattered after that day, and I intended to uphold that feeling of utter apathy. "Dean can think I'm crazy if he wants to. I don't care about what anyone thinks of me—especially not someone like _Dean Winchester_. I stopped caring a long time ago."

Danielle sighed, almost dramatically. "I'm sorry that you lost your dad, Lex, but you don't have to let his death stop you from being human. You're allowed to feel things, you know. You're allowed to like and dislike people. You're allowed to _move on_."

I snapped my attention to her. "So, what, do you just expect me to drop my mission and just accept the fact that my father was murdered? To forgive and forget and pretend that my life is sunshine and rainbows?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Danielle replied defensively. "You don't always have to be okay, but you don't have to live in a constant state of agony, Lex. I can see how miserable you are, because I can _see you_. Anyone who looks at you is able to see how exhausted you are. You don't have to keep soldiering on. You're allowed to let go."

"Have _you_ let go of _your_ parents' deaths?"

"Lex, don't be cruel."

"I'm not being cruel, Danielle. I'm asking you a question. Have you let go?"

Danielle sighed. "Yes," she answered. "I have let go, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt sometimes."

"No offense, Dani—I know I'm going to sound like a dick—but this isn't exactly the same situation. Your parents died in a house fire. It was an accident. There was nothing you could have done to prevent that… but my dad? His death wasn't accidental. He didn't die in a fire—he was murdered. I _could_ have prevented that, but I didn't. I have to live every single day of my life knowing that my dying father reached out to me and asked me to help him. I have to live my life knowing that I stood there, gawking at him, while his intestines poured onto the carpet. That's not something you just let go of."

"You can't blame yourself forever, Lexanna. Your dad's death wasn't your fault, even if you believe it was. You would have died, too. It's a miracle that you didn't die as it were. Vercillo wouldn't want you to go down this path of retribution, or revenge, or whatever you claim it to be. He would want you to move on and be happy."

"How the _hell_ do you know what he would want, Danielle? _I_ don't even know what he would want. And you know why? Because he's _not here_. He doesn't want anything anymore. He's _dead_. He's in a coffin, rotting, and suffocating underneath the dirt."

"Lex—"

"—where the _hell_ were you, Danielle?" I was staring at her, furious. My fists were balled, my body was shaking, and tears were welling in my eyes. "I _needed_ you, and you fucked off!"

Danielle turned away from me, pained. "I couldn't do it anymore, okay? I had to get away. That lifestyle was killing me, and I was scared shitless. I found myself thrust into a life I never knew existed. There were so many things that I didn't understand, and they frightened me. Ghosts, and vampires, and demons—I couldn't cope with it. I just couldn't do it. So, I left. I am so sorry that I left."

"I'm sorry, too," I hissed. "I'm sorry because you abandoned me. Don't you think that I was afraid, too? That I was overwhelmed? I didn't know the lifestyle existed either, Danielle! You weren't the only person who had ever been scared and confused, so what gave you the right to give up and abandon me?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing at the time… for myself."

"You're so fucking selfish, Danielle."

"I'm selfish because I took myself out of a dangerous situation that I was uncomfortable with?!"

"You're selfish because you didn't stop to think about the people you'd be hurting in the process! Once you've hurt someone, Danielle, you don't get to decide that you didn't."

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

Bitterly, I laughed. "I don't think you deserve to be forgiven."

"That's not fair!"

"Yeah, well, life isn't fair, now is it?"

"You think I was selfish? You should look at yourself in the mirror."

"Oh, fuck you, Danielle. You broke my heart more than it was already broken. Do you think that's forgivable? I needed you, and you fucking _left_. You didn't even leave a note. You were just gone—like you had never existed."

"I don't know how many times I can say that _I'm sorry_."

"At least once more," I replied blankly. "You haven't said it that much. I don't even know if you mean it."

"Of course I mean it, Lex. Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. I don't want to fight with you. Especially right now."

I laughed irritably. "You're the one that wanted to talk through our problems. It's too late to retract that statement."

We spent the next several moments in complete silence. It was probably for the better, anyhow. We both needed to regain our cool. Our temperaments were getting too hot, and there was no telling how long it would've been before we were full blown fist-fighting each other. After a moment, Danielle drew in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, Lex. I should've never left you."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Danielle. It's a sore subject."

"Okay," she sighed. "Alright, what should we talk about?"

"We could talk about the fact that I haven't looked at myself since I was nineteen."

Danielle stared at me. " _What?_ "

I chuckled, though not humorously. "I haven't looked in a mirror since I was nineteen-years-old. Isn't that wild? I always cover them. With sheets, or clothes, or pillowcases. Whatever I can get my hands on."

"Why do you do that?"

"Looking in the mirror isn't exactly an appealing thought when you're repulsed by what you see."

"You deserve better than that, Lex."

"No," I denied. "I don't."

Danielle growled under her breath, and then grabbed onto me, forcing my body to turn towards hers. "This self-hatred shit needs to stop, Lexanna. You're driving me crazy?"

I scoffed, loudly. "I'm supposed to stop hating myself because it _bothers_ you? Look, Danielle, I know it's been a long time since we've really been around each other, but I thought that you knew me better than anyone. I have issues, and I think you know that. I'm not going to pretend like I don't, and I'm surely not just going to shove them away, because it doesn't work that way. If I'm such an inconvenience on your life, and state of mind, then go ahead and leave… wouldn't be the first time."

"Jesus, Lex—"

I waved my hand at her when my cell phone started to vibrate in my pocket. I answered the call, and put the speaker to my ear. "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you two?!"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Dean?"

"No, it's Pennywise the Clown. Beep, beep, Richie—you want a balloon?"

I rolled my eyes. "What's going on?"

"You two need to get in here right the hell now. Shit has hit the fan, okay? Ronald Reznick is here, and he's holding everyone hostage. We still can't find the shifter, and we're getting ready to lock people in the vault. Sneak around the back."

I hung up the phone and pulled Danielle to stand up, and dragged her behind me. "We need to go," I told her. "The situation in there has gotten worse."

Danielle and I hurried around the bank, where Sam was standing with the door propped open. He ushered us inside, then shut and locked the door behind us. We jogged throughout the bank before we reached Dean and Ronald. When Ronald saw us, he turned his gun quickly towards us. "Hey, you're the lady who tried to Dr. Phil me!"

I flashed a smile. "Nice to see you again, Ronald."

Dean held his hand atop Ronald's gun. "Hey, Ron, chill out. They're with us. They're our… partners, I guess?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, we are. What's going on?"

"It's the bank manager," Sam replied. "We're about to go look for him. Hopefully catch him before he shifts again."

"Well, what the hell are we waiting for?" Danielle asked. "Let's go!"

We split apart, with Sam and Danielle going to lock the civilians, including Sam, into the vault, and Danielle proceeded to search one end of the bank while Dean, Ronald and I searched the other end. We scoured our half before breaking into the manager's office. I looked down to the skin shed on the floor, grimacing. "Great."

Ronald looked to the pile of goo, horrified. "What the hell is that?!"

Dean turned towards Ronald, flashing a fake smile. "Remember when I told you that it's not a man-droid? Well, it's not. This thing is called a shapeshifter. They shed their skin when they become someone else. Meaning that he's no longer the bank manager, and we don't know who it is."

"You're crazy!" Ronald exclaimed.

"No, Ronald," I denied. "We're not."

"Listen to me, Ron," Dean said, turning to him. "This has turned into a very dangerous situation, and you need to follow every single thing that we say, okay? We're going to keep you safe, but you need to cooperate. Can you do that?"

Ronald stared at him in disbelief, but nodded his head shortly afterward. "Yeah, I-I think I can do that."

"Good," Dean nodded. "Now, let's find Danielle, and get Sam. We need try and get back to the cameras. That's the only way to know who it is."

Before we headed out of the manager's office, I grabbed onto the silver letter opener that was sitting on the desk. We then left the office, pausing when the electricity inside of the bank was shut off. I glanced towards the windows, noticing the blue and red light flashing from police cars parked outside. "Shit. The cops are here."

Dean looked over, growling lowly in his throat. "Dandy," he said, shaking his head. He looked over to Ronald, who looked as though he felt guilty. "Don't worry about it so much, Ron. You were just trying to help. You were stupid about it, but you thought you were doing the best you could."

Ronald nodded to him before glancing around, laughing quietly to himself. Dean and I looked over to him, staring as his laughter became louder, and more intense. I cocked an eyebrow at him, pursing my lips momentarily. "Uh, you okay over there, Ron? You sound a little nutty."

I chose to ignore the pointed look that Dean gave me, keeping my eyes on Ronald. "That's the thing," he said. "I'm not nuts. There really is something going on here… I was right! I mean, except for the whole man-droid thing. Thanks for that, by the way, but… it's satisfying to know that you haven't gone completely bonkers!"

I nodded my head slowly and dramatically. "Yeah… yeah, that is comforting."

Dean looked out the window, shaking his head. "Dammit. You know, they probably have us surrounded," he said.

"No doubt," I agreed, looking over as a couple of stray civilians reared their heads. I shook my head, going over to them with Dean and Ronald trailing after us. "Alright, to the vaults with you guys."

We rounded up the remaining civilians, going to the vault to lock them in. We brought Sam outside, locking the others in again. I glanced around, furrowing my eyebrows. "Where's Danielle?"

However, Dean and Sam didn't acknowledge me, as they were having a conversation of their own. "Cops?" Sam asked, leaning his head back. "Great. You know, Dean, you're wanted by the police."

I looked over to them, furrowing my eyebrows. "What?"

Dean looked over, flashing a smile. "Yeah, I am. There was another shifter in St. Louis a while back. Took on my identity… I'm wanted now."

"Well, that's just awesome! How comforting." I shook my head, looking around again. "Where the _hell_ is Danielle?"

"Hey, it's okay," Sam said in a soft tone. "We'll look for her. We can talk about our game-plan while we do."

We then began to scour the bank in search of Danielle. Sam looked between Dean and me. "So, guys, what the hell are we going to do? We can't exactly just let the cops in, considering Dean's situation. Not to mention, we'll never find the shapeshifter that way."

"We need to worry less about the police and more about the shapeshifter," I said, looking over to him. "We need to take care of it, or we might never find it. Plus, more people are _definitely_ going to get hurt unless we find the damn thing. The shifter isn't even our only problem. Besides the police, Danielle also happens to be missing."

Ronald looked between us. "Well, what if the shapeshifter got her?"

I pointed my index finger at him. "No," I said. "No, it didn't. You understand me? If the shapeshifter got Danielle, then she's dead. And she's _not_."

Ronald shrugged slowly. "I mean… she might be."

Dean held his hand up to Ronald, shaking his head. "Not a thing to say, man. She's a bit unhinged."

Sam frowned over to his brother. "What'd you say?"

I glared over to Dean, rubbing the back of my neck. "Alright, Dean. We need to deal with this once and for all. Do you think that I'm crazy? That I'm dangerous?"

"Can't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind," Dean said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam asked. "What's this about?"

"I told him about my pills," I answered. "That I'm prescribed antipsychotics because of the fact that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia four years ago."

Sam looked over to his brother, glowering at him. "Why would you think that she's crazy, Dean? She's a normal person—there's nothing wrong with him. You're so insensitive."

Dean threw his brother a scowl. "Schizophrenia doesn't exactly make her a normal person, Sam. Isn't that the definition of schizophrenia? Craziness? Excuse the hell out of me for not trusting someone that, for all intents and purposes, is certifiable!"

For some reason, his words stabbed through me like a sword. I could feel my heart aching my chest. I swiped tears from my eyes with my thumb. Sam moved forward to hug me, but I jerked away from him. Dean sighed quietly, turning towards me. "Lex, I'm—"

"Fuck you, Dean." I moved away from them, turning and walking away.

Instead of helping Ronald and the brothers, I decided to look for Danielle myself. I didn't know why I should involve myself with people who didn't trust me, and would rather have insulted me than get to know me as a person. I was looking through storage rooms, searching for my friend, when I turned and bumped into someone. I withdrew the silver letter opener, defensively, only to relax when I realized it was Adalcus. "Jesus Christ."

Adalcus's lips twitched. "Not quite."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You scared me," I said, tucking the weapon away. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You are thinking about leaving," Adalcus said, pressing his lips into a thin line afterward.

"Can you get out of my head? There's pretty much no room for you in here," I hissed, turning to look for Danielle again. "Yeah, I _am_ thinking about leaving. What of it?"

"You cannot."

"Look, Adalcus, I realize that you're hardcore pushing for this whole 'destiny' bullshit, but I'm not going to spend my time with someone who thinks that I'm a loose cannon. Doesn't exactly feel great."

Adalcus followed me with his hands folded peacefully behind his back. "I thought you had no regard for the thoughts others have of you?"

I shook my head, moving into another storage room. "I don't, but I can't say that being called 'crazy' is an awesome feeling."

"You are not insane."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Very well," Adalcus began, moving in front of me. "You do not have schizophrenia."

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking up to him. "No?"

"No," Adalcus said, watching me with his maroon eyes. "That is why your medicine does not work. You are not schizophrenic."

"What am I, then?" I asked, but Adalcus just watched me silently. "Let me guess—that's just another thing you can't tell me, right?"

Adalcus gave me a sympathetic smile. "Indeed."

"You know, I really can't deal with your cryptic bullshit anymore."

"I know that it frustrates you, Lexanna. However, it is a simple fact. There are things I have sworn to keep secret. In fact, you know things that I already should not have told you."

"Well, I'm about done with it—you and the Winchesters both. I have more important things I could be worrying about right now. Like, I don't know, my father? He's my main priority, not Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Revenge is a futile path, Lexanna. It will bring you no satisfaction."

"Well, agree to disagree, yeah?"

Adalcus frowned. "For once, will you listen to me?"

"Maybe," I shrugged. "Not today, though. If you're going to be here, make yourself useful and help me find Danielle."

Adalcus shook his head, watching me with his uncomfortable, unfaltering gaze. "You will learn what you wish to one day, Lexanna. You should not be too eager for the knowledge. You may not enjoy what you find out."

"Yeah, I get. 'The truth hurts.'"

Adalcus shook his head. "Danielle is in the closet across the hall."

When I turned back, the demon was gone. "Okay, Batman," I grumbled, moving to the closet across the hall. When I opened the door, I saw that Danielle had been knocked unconscious—presumably by the shapeshifter. I cursed under my breath and knelt before her, shaking her gently. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and shot confused eyes around the room.

"What happened?"

I shrugged. "Shifter probably knocked out," I said as I stood and offered my hand to her. I helped her stand, and sighed when she asked where Sam, Dean, and Ronald were. "Hell if I know."

Danielle frowned. "What happened now?"

"Dean still thinks I'm mental."

"Oh, Lex… he'll get over it."

"Well, I don't really want to sit with my thumb up my ass while he decides whether or not I deserve to be treated like a person."

Danielle shook her head. "I think you're the most stubborn human being I have ever met."

"The Winchesters are a waste of my time, Danielle. The only thing they're doing is causing me to stray away from my path. Everyone seems to be trying to do that."

"Well, Lex, there's a reason for that."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"The path you're going down is, first of all, suicidal, but most of all—fruitless."

"I'm really fucking glad that you all think that the only thing I care about is pointless."

Danielle sighed, heavily. "We can talk about this later, Lex. We need to find the brothers."

Danielle and I maneuvered through the hallways. As we entered the main lobby again, a tall man shoved past us, knocking me onto the floor. I looked up, watching as Danielle ran for Ronald. "Get down!" Danielle shouted at him, but immediately afterward, he was shot in the back by a sniper. His body collapsed onto the floor, but Danielle kept running for him.

"Danielle!" I screamed. "Danielle, get out of the light!"

Another bullet broke through the window, clipping Danielle's side. She slammed into the ground, pressing her hand over the wound. I felt panic rush through me, but I stayed where I was. "No," I muttered to myself. "Not again."

I crawled over to her quickly and pulled her away from the window, underneath a counter. I watched as a bullet rip the spot where I had been only a few seconds ago. I shook my head, watching Sam rush past.

Dean reached for Ronald's gun, then slid it over to me. "Keep her safe. I have to get a hostage out. He's having a heart attack."

I nodded to him, moving to press my hand to Danielle's side. I looked down to her, trying as best as I could to maintain my composure. "It'll be okay," I told her, nodding. I glanced around the bank before closing my eyes, focusing on Adalcus, trying to summon him.

Shortly afterward, Adalcus appeared. A bullet shot through his shoulder, but he knelt before us, seeming unfazed. He glanced to his shirt, pursing his lips. "Shame," he said. "This is one of my favorites," he said before grasping onto Danielle. "Be careful, Lexanna." He then disappeared with her.

I took a few deep breaths, nodding my head. "You're okay," I whispered to myself. "Danielle's okay." I forced myself to stand, careful of the light shining through the window as I tried to regroup with Dean.

He moved down the stairs, nodding to me. "We're so screwed," he said, before glancing to where I had previous been with Danielle. "Where did she go?"

I shook my head. "It's a long story for another time."

As he opened his mouth to speak, his phone began to ring. He answered it, exchanged a few words with Sam, before shutting it and tucking it into his pocket again. "Shifter slipped his skin again. Workers are out of the vault. C'mon, we need to go play shepherd."

I followed after him, holding onto Ronald's gun tightly as I did. As we walked, I glanced over to him. "I'm not crazy."

Dean rubbed his forehead briefly before turning his head to look at me. "Yeah… sorry about that."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop being an asshole."

"I'm being an asshole?"

"Well, I know I haven't exactly been Mrs. Brady, but yeah, you're being an asshole. I'm not crazy, and what you say hurts my feelings."

"You didn't strike me as the type to let anything hurt you."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Didn't think I was, either, but… I am, admittedly, human."

Dean nodded to me. "Right, yeah. I'm sorry."

When we found the workers that had made their way out of the vault, we carefully rounded them back inside. I stood off to the side, listening as Dean and a worker named 'Sheri' had a brief conversation. I glanced to the phone as it began to ring, then looked back to Dean, gesturing with my head for him to answer it. I then moved to guard the vault, looking to Sheri, who looked back at me uneasily. "I thought you were the good guys."

I looked ahead, pressing my lips together before shrugging. "We are the good guys, Sheri. You wouldn't understand if we tried to explain."

"The good guys wouldn't herd us in here like cattle."

"It's for your own safety. You may not believe that, but that's the truth."

After a moment, Dean approached me. "The Feds are here," he told me. "Said they were coming in an hour, no matter what. They know about Sam and I. Luckily, neither you nor Danielle have been implicated yet. We'll try and keep it that way."

"They'll come in sooner than an hour," I said.

Dean nodded. "I know."

Sam approached us, waving his hand at Dean as he told him that we have a problem. "There's a problem in the vault. I just found the younger female employee's body."

Dean sighed and nodded. "Got it," he said, before bringing Sheri out of the vault.

We led her into the office where Sam had found her counterpart's body. As soon as she noticed it, she began to panic. She struggled against Sam's grip and screamed at the sight. As soon as Sam released her arm, she fell to the ground, unconscious.

I watched her for a moment, pressing my lips together. I grabbed Dean's arm before he stabbed a silver letter opener into her chest. "This doesn't make," I said. "What would her advantage be? Fainting wouldn't exactly stop us from killing her, now would it?"

Sam nodded. "Fair point."

Dean stuck his lower lip out and nodded. He then moved back to Sheri's corpse, studying it carefully. "Huh," he grunted. "That _is_ weird."

We looked back towards the door when he heard glass smashing from the front of the bank. I cursed under my breath. "They're in."

Sheri's corpse then sprung alive, clutching her hands onto Dean's throat and squeezing it tightly. I moved forward, waving at Sam. "Get Sheri out of here!" I ordered before dropping to my knees, trying to stab the shapeshifter with my own letter opener. The shifter balled its fist and struck me across the face, leaped forward, and ran out of the office.

I followed Dean as he ran after it. I turned the corner, watching briefly as they struggled with each other's force. I jerked hand down, slashing the shifter with the letter opener. It turned on me and lunged, slamming my head back into the ground. I grunted and grabbed my head, disoriented from the blow. Dean tackled the shifter off of me, proceeding to wrestle with it as he tried desperately to drive the blade into its heart.

I lifted myself up slowly; uneasily. I tightened my hold on the letter opener, trying to force my eyes to focus as the two jerked around and slammed each other into walls. As the shifter had Dean pinned up against the wall, and was ready to turn the weapon on him, I lurched forward, driving the tip of the letter opener into its neck.

The shifter fell back to the ground, incapacitated for the moment. I dropped on top of it, hissing as it used its fingernails to slice my neck open. I lifted the letter opener above my head, then drove it back down, stabbing the monster directly in the heart. I panted as it went still, losing the life from its eyes.

Dean rubbed his neck uncomfortably, looking at me with surprise in his expression. "Well," he nodded. "You're a lot more badass than I would've originally thought."

I laughed breathlessly, looking over to him. "Come on, we need to get the hell out of here. However, as we turned, a SWAT member turning the flashlight on his rifle towards us. We both stared, slowly putting our hands above our heads.

The man shook his head, and then pulled his faceguard down. "It's me," Sam said. He tossed the both of us SWAT uniforms. "Good way to blend in," he said. "Let's go."

Dean and I dressed in the uniforms as quickly as we could. We then rejoined the masses, trying our best to blend it. The entire moment was heavily tense. We were maneuvering around people who, had they known our true identities, wouldn't have waited a single moment to kill us. As we 'cleared' rooms, I watched Special Agent Victor Henriksen weave between the SWAT team, looking around wearily. I held onto my rifle tightly, glancing to Sam and Dean, subtly nodding my head towards the door. We moved away, acting as though we were going to clear some more rooms. However, we carefully, but swiftly, made our way out of the bank and to the parking garage where the Impala was. Once we arrived at the car and piled in, assuring our safety, we removed our head guards. We spent the next few minutes in silence.

Dean was the first one to speak. "We are so screwed," he said.

"They'll know now," I said, after a moment.

Sam turned around to look at me. "Know what?"

"That you guys have a third partner. They'll find the men you restrained, and there will three. I've officially been implicated."

Dean shook his head. "Not your identity," he said. "Just your presence."

I scoffed. "Well, that's comforting."

The elder Winchester brother shook his head, and then started the car. He veered out of the parking spot, then pulled quickly out of the parking garage. I stared out the window, shaking my head. I knew that joining the Winchesters was going to be a bad idea—and my thoughts had just been proven.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are love & motivation.


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